


The Loves and Hatreds of His Frightful Home

by Coneycat



Series: Housemates [2]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthurian myth, Brother Feels, Crossover, Family, Friendship, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 59,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coneycat/pseuds/Coneycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has been living quietly in Totterdown, Bristol, for some time when his brother and the Avengers learn of malicious supernatural activity in the area. Initial suspicion falls upon Loki, and he and his housemates find themselves working to prove Loki's innocence, repair his relationship with Thor, and incidentally deal with a threat from the mists of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue** _

_The storm raged around him until he could no longer see any of the others. Stark was somewhere above him, the flare of his rockets lost in flashes of lightning. The rain and wind made it impossible to hear anyone else. It had been many years since Steve had felt so utterly alone._

 _And then he heard the voice, soft and insinuating, like the voice of one of those smooth-talking villains played by British actors in the movies._

 _"What do you bring to this fight, mortal? Not magic. Not machinery. Courage, I think. Yes, that is your gift."_

 _Steve turned in time to see a figure in a green cloak raising its hands._

 _"And so I shall take it."_

 _There was a flash, the sense of being struck by a powerful force._

 _And then nothing._

 

 **Chapter One**

"It's not that I don't love your brother, Loki, because you know I do," Annie said. "But I wish he had given us some advance warning about that storm last night. If I'd known about it I wouldn't have left laundry hanging out."

"And we might have warned the neighbours to likewise bring their clothing in," Loki agreed. He held up several unfamiliar undergarments that had blown into the garden from elsewhere. "Have you any suggestions of what we should do with these?"

Annie sighed. "I'm having to do all our laundry over anyway. Give them to me and I'll run them through the wash as well. Then I suppose we can host a laundry reunion party or something out in the street. It might be fun. We can make cocktails."

"I just hope George is all right," Loki said as he moved a dustbin and squeezed behind it to retrieve a cardigan that might belong to the elderly lady in number twelve. "Of all nights for such a storm."

"Well, at least he's got a nice thick coat when he's in wolf form, and if it got muddy I don't have to launder it," Annie said heartlessly. "Actually, come to think of it they should be back by now. Mitchell left to pick him up quite some time ago. He'll probably be wanting a cup of tea."

"If you wish to put the kettle on, I am competent to operate the clothes-washing machine," Loki offered.

Annie narrowed her eyes at him. "If you have any trouble, you'll call me to help, right? You won't just put another curse on the machine?"

Loki looked as innocent as he could, which was very innocent indeed, which he knew Annie knew meant exactly the opposite. "It was not exactly a curse."

"I don't know what else you'd call it, with the cellar flooded and a sea-serpent flailing around amid soap suds and wet socks."

"They came out very clean," Loki pointed out, which made Annie throw the socks she was holding at him. They did not, so far as Loki knew, belong to anyone in their household, so he thought Annie's shriek of dismay as they turned into starlings and flew away was unnecessary. If the neighbours who owned the socks wished to retain them, they should have come out after the storm and looked for themselves. Besides, the spell would only last a few seconds--perhaps the socks would find themselves closer to home when they resumed their normal form.

Annie was about to remonstrate further when from inside the house they heard Mitchell's voice, calling,

"Annie? Loki? Can you come inside? We need some help."

Annie and Loki traded alarmed glances and ran into the house, dropping the wet, muddy laundry on the doorstep outside. As they entered the kitchen they were both relieved to see the problem was not with George, who was standing by Mitchell. He was dirty and tired-looking, as he always was the morning after the full moon, but he was dressed in the dry clothes Mitchell had taken him to replace his rained-upon ones, and he seemed in good health.

No, the one in need of assistance was a stranger standing behind Mitchell, a tall muscular man with close-cropped blond hair and eyes as blue as those of Loki's brother. He was muddy and shivering, and looked around the kitchen in a vague, alarmed way that spoke of a recent head injury.

Or-- Loki looked more closely at the stranger's eyes. That vacant look wasn't injury, it was sorcery.

"Mitchell," he said, pitching his voice softly so as not to frighten the stranger any further, "what is going on?"

"George found him," Mitchell explained. Loki and Annie looked at George, who sat down wearily on a kitchen chair and explained,

"I woke up this morning and started to walk back to where I left my clothes, and he was just kind of wandering in the woods looking lost. He was obviously out in the storm last night."

"How fortunate that you found him when you did," Loki said through suddenly stiff lips. It would not be apparent to the stranger, but his words had two meanings: it was not only fortunate for the stranger that George had found him, but quite literally that George had found him when he did.

George this morning was the soul of warmth and kindliness.

George a few hours earlier, under the influence of the full moon, would have been another matter entirely.

"I thought that myself," George agreed. "I need a bath, but perhaps our guest should go first."

The stranger turned his head toward George, the first sign that he could at least hear what they were saying. It was impossible to tell whether he understood them.

Annie plugged in the electric kettle and said, "When I brought in that first lot of clothes for Loki, there were a few things that were too big--a couple of t-shirts and some sweatpants. I think those are in a box in the cellar, I'll go find them."

"Good idea, Annie," Mitchell said.

"Thank you," said the stranger, looking directly at her. Annie started, then smiled at the stranger as she left the kitchen.

That removed any doubt about the involvement of magic: the stranger was definitely human, and since Annie was a ghost, under normal circumstances humans could not see her. Contact by the human with Loki, or presumably another sorcerer, seemed to provide enough magical contact to make her visible to the human involved, but Loki had not been touching the stranger. There had to be another source of magic.

Mitchell, with his usual kindly practicality, escorted the stranger upstairs to the bath while Loki made tea and toast for George. His tea was not up to Annie's standards, but it was acceptable when enough sugar was added. Handing over a mug, Loki asked,

"Where did you say you encountered this man?"

"In the woods a mile or so from, from my starting point." George meant a mile or so from the spot where he changed forms. Loki nodded.

"That was also, I believe, the centre of the storm we experienced last night," Loki mused.

"Yes, I do remember that," George said, rather bitterly. "At least, I remember the skies opening just as I started to change. Was that your brother?" Loki nodded apologetically. "I must have a word with him about that."

"The intensity of the storm implies he was engaged in battle," Loki remarked. "Possibly along with his… new associates."

"Is that right," George said, looking very interested.

In the months since Herrick's death and the housemates' return from Asgard, things had been uneasily quiet on the vampire front, and the housemates had settled into a watchful yet peaceful routine.

Bristol was, for the most part, quiet. However, as if to maintain equilibrium, threats had begun to emerge elsewhere on Midgard. As they did not involve vampires or directly affect Bristol, Loki and his housemates did not consider themselves responsible for these other matters, although Loki had renewed the protective charm on the school and set another on Mitchell and George's hospital. However, for reasons best known to himself, Thor had agreed to join a group of Midgardian warriors known as The Avengers (an appellation which for some reason amused Mitchell very much, and caused him to inquire rhetorically whether someone named Mrs. Peel was also part of the group) to protect the realm.

Loki and his friends followed the adventures of The Avengers as closely as did the humans around them. Loki had been very amused when the first action figure of his brother turned up in the lost-and-found box at his school. (He restrained the impulse to keep it and deny all knowledge to the child who came looking for it, instead merely quizzing the boy about where such an item might be obtained. As he always put away his own clean laundry, the presence of a tiny plastic figure beneath his folded socks was no one's business but his own.)

As he remarked to George, the previous night's storm had felt like a battle, apparently fought almost directly overhead. Knowing his housemate was, as Mitchell would say, "all in" after his night in wolf form, Loki restrained himself until George had finished his tea and eaten his toast before requesting his assistance with the computer.

"Sure," George replied, replenishing his tea and rising. "What do you need?"

"I wish to view images of my brother's colleagues," Loki explained. George nodded agreeably and led the way to the front room, where the computer sat closed like a book on a shelf. It was the work of a minute or two to retrieve the information Loki sought, and both housemates found themselves gazing at a depiction of a muscular, blond man with eyes as blue as Thor's.

"Loki," George said, his voice outwardly calm but pitched rather higher than usual, "do we have Captain America upstairs in our bathroom?"

"Yes," Loki replied, his own voice also calm, but perhaps a little more wooden than was normal. "I believe that to be the case."


	2. Chapter 2

Loki had managed to close his mouth, but George still had not, when Mitchell and Annie came down the stairs. Loki had not even noticed Annie going up. Mitchell was carrying a nondescript bundle of muddy clothing, greenish trousers and a gray t-shirt, that clearly belonged to the stranger.

"Are you two all right?" Mitchell asked, looking from one to the other. George made a noise that suggested he was still in wolf, or perhaps puppy, form, while Loki nodded as confidently as he could manage. Neither Annie nor Mitchell looked convinced. Loki was actually about to explain matters to his housemates when the stranger came downstairs, wearing the sweatpants and football-club t-shirt Annie had given him, discards from the clothing Annie had scavenged for Loki upon his arrival in Bristol.

(By "arrival," Loki meant "fall from the sky, ending in a thump on the roof of the house and then a tumble to the dustbins in the back garden." The first articles of Midgardian garb Loki had acquired were the result of Annie rummaging through a neighbour's rubbish for relics of a recently-ended relationship. Loki supposed some might consider it undignified for him to continue wearing what amounted to someone else's trash, but he was grateful to Annie for the trouble she took, which coloured his feelings toward the clothing, and so he did not wish to part with it.)

The clothes being worn by the newcomer had been much too large for Loki, but proved an acceptable fit for… for Captain America, who was not quite as tall as Loki, but nearly as broad and muscular as Thor.

"I really appreciate all you've done for me," he said now, his blue eyes earnest. "I promise I won't bother you for much longer."

"Really, it's fine." Mitchell said kindly, and Annie added, "Don't be silly," with a pat on the shoulder that made Captain America flinch in surprise, probably from the unexpected coldness of her hand. Loki experienced a flicker of jealousy, and then a jolt of panic as he ruthlessly squelched it. Jealousy and Loki were, as he knew to his cost, a very bad combination. To make up for it, he turned to Mitchell and offered,

"I am sure both George and our guest are hungry. Perhaps you and Annie could make breakfast while I begin the laundry."

"Oh yeah, that would be great," Mitchell said. "As long as there are no--" he stopped himself just in time from mentioning curses or sea-serpents. Loki smiled his most unnervingly innocent smile and extended his hand for the bundle of clothing. Mitchell passed it over.

As Loki took the bundle he felt a jolt, rather like an electric charge grounding through his body, as magic was drawn from the clothing. Loki's hands jerked, his fingers involuntarily opened, and the clothing dropped from his hands. As they fell, the nondescript shirt and trousers changed, hitting the floor as a vibrant red-white-and-blue costume. Mitchell, Annie and the newcomer looked down at the bundle and then up at each other.

"What the hell--?" Mitchell said.

"Ah, yes," Loki said smoothly. "We were about to mention that."

 

~oOoOoOo~

 

"He's _Captain America_?" Mitchell demanded--unnecessarily, Loki felt, since he and George had already explained their deductions. Loki nodded anyway. "Captain _America_?"

"Repeating it with different emphases isn't going to change anything," George pointed out, rather grumpily. George was clearly feeling the effects of his long night, in wolf form, in the rain, and he obviously wanted to have a bath and go to bed. Equally obviously, he did not wish to be impolite and abandon their guest before this matter was sorted out.

Their guest seemed to need all the friends he could get at the moment. He sat on the couch with Annie on one side of him and Mitchell on the other, staring at the red-white-and-blue bundle on the floor. He looked shocked and frightened.

"I'm not, though," he protested, very softly, as though to himself. "My name is Steve. Steve Rogers. I'm, I'm just a guy from Brooklyn. I'm not… whoever wears that."

"So you don't remember being one of the Avengers?" Mitchell asked.

Steve shook his head. "The only Avenger I know anything about is the US Navy bomber. Grumman manufactured it. They… they brought it into service right around the same time I joined the Army, in 1942." He rubbed his forehead and used the gesture to try and cover a sneaky swipe at his watering eyes. The others pretended not to notice. "I don't understand any of this. I don't belong here." He glanced around apologetically and added, "I'm glad the war is over, of course I am, but everything is so… strange."

"I imagine it's very disorienting," Mitchell said kindly. Having actually lived through his own hundred years of change he was less bewildered by it than Steve, who had awakened in a completely different time. However, he probably understood some of the other man's confusion.

Annie patted his arm and Steve flinched again. He seemed too confused in general to wonder specifically why Annie's hands were so cold, but just in case it occurred to him to ask, Loki decided a distraction was in order. Steve appeared upset enough without having to process the fact he had been rescued by supernatural beings. Picking up the computer, Loki managed to navigate back to the images he and George had been looking at earlier.

"Steve," he said gently, "I believe something has happened to you that affected your memory. I would like to show you some pictures, of people we believe to be your friends. Perhaps they will aid your recollections."

"Okay," Steve agreed, looking apprehensive. Loki adjusted the images so that a picture of Thor dominated the screen, then crouched in front of Steve and turned the machine to face him.

The reaction was startling: Steve jerked backward with an involuntary gasp that sounded like terror forcing the breath from his lungs. Loki nearly dropped the computer in his haste to turn the screen the other way.

"I'm sorry," he said hastily, standing up and backing away, the closed computer clutched to his chest as though he was restraining it. "I didn't expect--" He didn't expect _anyone_ to be afraid of Thor, let alone as terrified as this. Steve's pupils were dilated and he seemed actually frozen in place, as if too frightened to even attempt to flee. It took him a moment to even be able to speak.

"It's not your fault," Steve said breathlessly. "I don't even know why that scared me so much. I don't know who he is. I just… I just had this _feeling_."

"You're all right," Annie promised him. "You're safe."

"I know," Steve mumbled. "I do know. I just don't…"

The housemates looked at each other helplessly. Loki hated to leave Steve alone in this condition, but a meeting of housemates definitely appeared to be in order.

"Steve, would you please excuse us for a moment?" he requested, and led the others into the kitchen. On second thought, given the presumed superpowers possessed by Captain America, Loki ushered everyone into the back garden where there was less chance of being overheard.

"That's a superhero?" George whispered. Annie punched his arm. "Well--"

"It is very strange that he's so… spooked," Mitchell agreed. "I mean, these guys have faced some pretty amazing things. Whatever was out there in that storm must have been really bad."

Loki shook his head. "I do not think that is the explanation. I do not think he is afraid of anything specific. I think a spell has been cast upon him."

"Oh dear," Annie said, with admirable restraint. Mitchell's comment was more colourful. George removed his spectacles and tiredly rubbed his eyes.

"Of course it has," he sighed.

"That certainly explains his clothes," Annie added. "How did you take the spell off them, Loki? And can you… de-spell… him the same way?"

Loki shook his head. "I fear not, because I did not do anything. When I touched the clothing, the magic… jumped to me. Some enchantments do not remain long on inanimate objects."

"Okay, hang on a minute, are you saying now the spell is on _you?_ " George demanded in alarm.

"Apparently not," Loki replied. "The magical energy simply passed into me, because I was able to receive it. The form of the spell did not. The trouble is, because Steve is alive, the magic remains upon him in the shape in which it was cast."

"Can you remove it?" Mitchell asked. Loki shook his head.

"Not without knowing what manner of spell it is, or at least something about the sorcerer. Without such knowledge, there is a real possibility of something going terribly wrong."

"Oh, well that's just lovely," George grumbled. He glanced at Loki's expression and looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Loki, I didn’t mean to snarl at you. It's just… what do we do now?"

Annie spoke up. "Should we tell him? He's scared enough already, without knowing someone put a curse on him." Loki bit his lip and did not try to argue with Annie about whether this particular spell counted as a curse.

Her argument made sense to Loki: it appeared no real good could come of trying to explain matters to Steve. However, as a liar by inclination Loki realized that he might not be the best judge of the situation. Any time he was put in a circumstance that felt uncomfortable or unpredictable, his instinct was to try to lie his way out of it. This did not always turn out to be the wisest course, and so he was willing to listen when Mitchell argued,

"I think he needs to know. Loki, you think the fear is actually created by the spell?" Loki nodded. Mitchell went on, "It might help him to know that. I think he's partly afraid of the fact he is so afraid, if you see what I mean. The fact he's scared for what seems like no reason at all."

The others nodded. George voiced what they were all thinking:

"Do you think we need to tell him… about us? About what we are?"

"I can't imagine he'd believe us," Annie pointed out. "I think the magic is going to be a hard enough sell without werewolves and vampires and ghosts, oh my."

"Oh my," Loki agreed. "We should also consider how we would go about proving we are speaking the truth. I could easily cast a harmless spell, and I suppose Annie could disappear, but with the full moon past George really has no way of demonstrating what manner of being he is, and Mitchell…" Loki trailed off, looking apologetically at Mitchell.

"Right," Mitchell agreed. He could, of course, put on a show of fangs and predatory blackened eyes as proof he was a vampire, but once seen, that image was extremely difficult to put out of one's mind. As Annie had said, Steve was frightened enough already.

"We are, however, trying to convince him he is a… a superhero," Loki said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," George agreed. "Six impossible things before breakfast." When Loki looked blank, George added, "I don't think you've read that book yet. I'll tell you later. What I mean is, he knows about the Avengers, so also telling him about the magic isn't quite as much of a stretch as it might be otherwise."

Mitchell said, "The question is just how far we can make him stretch before he--"

"Snaps," George completed the sentence.

"Perhaps we should limit the explanation to what is strictly necessary," Loki suggested. "Since magic is involved, he should know that I am a sorcerer who is on his side. He may then guess the rest of you are also supernatural beings. If so, you can confirm it, but I don't think there is any need to belabour that matter right now. Or offer proof, if the proof would be more frightening than the uncertainty."

"Okay," Mitchell said. "Are we agreed? Loki tells him about the magic and we keep quiet about the rest of it for now?" Everyone nodded. "Great. And what do we do after that?"

Loki chewed on his lower lip. "I had thought we could simply send a message to Thor and ask him to come here and collect Steve, but that no longer seems like a wise idea."

"No," Mitchell agreed. "Not when the sight of his face sent Steve into such a panic."

"I find it hard to believe anyone could be that frightened of your brother," Annie remarked. "Magic or no magic."

"I had the same thought," Loki admitted. "For centuries I believed Thor to be a thickheaded idiot, but I never imagined anyone could see him as anything but kindly-disposed." He thought for a moment, then looked up at the sky and said in a conversational tone, "Heimdall, if you can hear me, I need to speak to Thor at some location apart from this house. Perhaps he could come see me at work. We have found his friend Steve, who is unharmed but appears to be in need of assistance. If you wish to explain matters more fully, that would be much appreciated. It will be necessary to prepare Steve for Thor's arrival, so that it will not be alarming to him. Thank you, Heimdall." He looked back at his friends to find Mitchell smothering a grin. "What?"

"Sorry. It's just… Asgardian voicemail…" Mitchell snickered. With an effort, he sobered and added, "Will that message get to Thor?"

"If he is in Asgard, yes. If not, I am not sure what to do."

"Shame he doesn't carry a mobile," George said.

"But Jane Foster does," Loki remembered. "And Jane is associated with SHIELD, the agency that works with the Avengers. We can send her a message explaining matters, and then SHIELD will dispatch a representative here. I have no idea whether that organization has agents competent to deal with magical occurrences, but if they do not we can offer our assistance."

"Great," Mitchell said slowly. "That sounds… that sounds great."

Loki frowned. "You do not sound 'great.' What is it?"

Mitchell shrugged helplessly. "I just have this sensation of 'famous last words.'"

George glared. "Thank you, Mitchell. That's very helpful."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "edict" to which Loki refers is something I recently saw on the Internet. I have no idea if it's real, but it sounds like a good idea anyway.

Loki was alone in the library, tidying up the truly remarkable mess left behind by a class of eleven-year-olds, when Annie dropped in to see him.

Annie's sudden appearances still startled George and Mitchell-- she now tried to be careful, after an incident involving George and a pot of vegetable soup that had led to all four housemates spending an hour cleaning the kitchen floor and the next two days finding bits of chopped carrot and potato in the strangest places throughout the room. Loki, however, always felt a sort of rustle in the air just before her appearance, as though he could hear her entering the room. He looked up with a smile as she materialized beside him.

"Can you talk?" she asked. Annie did not always remember that mortals could not see her, and had a habit of engaging the housemates in what looked puzzlingly like one-sided conversations in front of humans. Loki, with a great deal of practice at subterfuge, generally retained his composure, unless he thought it would be amusing to appear to be talking to himself. The earnest young men who knocked on doors in the neighbourhood, wishing to discuss salvation and eternal life, had learned to avoid their house.

At the moment, Loki simply nodded. "Yes, the librarian has betaken herself for a 'break'." He glanced around at the chaos of disordered books, discarded notepaper, and illicit foodstuffs and commented, "I rather hope that does not mean 'take refuge in alcohol,' although who could blame her." He returned his full attention to Annie, who almost never came to see him at work. It suddenly occurred to him that she had probably not simply been overcome with the desire for his company. "Is everything all right?" On a note of increasing anxiety: "Is Steve--?"

"Fine. Well, almost fine. Nearly recovered."

Loki blushed, which made Annie's eyes sparkle with mischief. "I _am_ sorry about that. I did not know of the edict against playing the music of Bob Dylan to one who is already distressed. I did not even know who Bob Dylan _was_."

Their interview with Steve on the previous afternoon had been just as upsetting as everyone anticipated. Steve had been understandably reluctant to believe in the existence of magic, even after Loki had performed an escalating series of conjurations that ended with a half-grown rhinoceros (George: "What _is_ it with you and rhinoceroses?") in the front room, snuffling at Steve's face and attempting to untie his shoelaces with its surprisingly flexible lips.

Loki had sent the animal back where it came from before anything happened he would be obliged to clean up and Steve, wiping perfectly real rhino-slobber from his face, was finally compelled to admit this was not a hallucination. As Loki had hoped, the sheer silliness of the conjuration seemed to reassure the disoriented superhero that he had fallen among beings who were willing to help him.

Which, of course, still left him bewitched and bewildered in a strange place, and a strange time, and among strangers. Until SHIELD arrived to collect him, it seemed the best course was to attempt to reassure him and possibly help him orient himself into the place and time where he found himself. It appeared that, under the spell, he had also forgotten most of what he knew about the current time. Rather than attempt to recap the last seventy years of Midgardian history, Mitchell and George had resorted to what was referred to as "pop culture," in the form of recordings of a television program apparently created by some sort of large serpent.

There were no snakes in evidence, but the program was still extremely puzzling, featuring one illogical sequence after another in rapid succession. Loki and Steve had watched in shared bewilderment, until the segment that began with a strangely-dressed man dancing about with a small fish, and ended with him being knocked into a canal by another strangely-dressed man wielding a much larger fish. Loki could not explain what he had found so funny about it, but he and Steve had both laughed themselves breathless all four times they had made George re-play it for them. Annie had finally rolled her eyes and left the room.

And then Loki had ruined everything by attempting to go on to music, and perfectly innocently choosing a bard from Mitchell's collection who appeared to be from the same part of Midgard as Steve. The voice sounded like it had fallen through the same void Loki had before he arrived in Bristol, which should have been his warning, but he had not heeded it. The next thing anyone knew, the voice was wailing about being on one's own, with no direction home, and Steve burst into tears. Even Loki, although for the most part perfectly content to live in Bristol, had also been visited by a sense of how _far away_ he was from _everything_ that had once been familiar and even beloved--

\-- and then Mitchell had made a dive for the source of the music and replaced it with a much more cheerful composition about a man who possessed a barrow in a marketplace, and the rest of the evening had been given over to trying to repair the damage Loki had inadvertently done.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Annie said kindly. "You had no way of knowing. Anyway, we've gotten an email from Jane. She says SHIELD is sending someone to pick Steve up."

"Oh, good. And they understand that their emissary should first come to speak to me, or to Mitchell and George at the hospital, before proceeding to the house?"

"I think so," Annie said.

"Wonderful," Loki said, relieved.

"Who are you talking to?"

Loki jumped, and then turned around to see two familiar small boys standing behind him, looking puzzled.

"Hello Patrick. Trevor. Why are you not in your classroom?" Loki asked, going on the offensive.

"Our teacher told us to come here and ask for a dictionary," explained Patrick, who generally acted as spokeschild for the pair. "Who are you talking to?"

Loki sighed and resorted to complete honesty, which he generally found the best course with small children. "I was speaking to my friend Annie."

Both boys frowned. Patrick asked, "Is she an imaginary friend?"

"No," Loki replied. "She is merely invisible." He kept his expression perfectly serious, despite the fact Annie had burst into her extremely infectious giggle beside him.

Trevor spoke up suddenly. "Is she your invisible _girlfriend?_ "

"That is a question you would have to ask her," Loki replied, attempting to ignore both the heat spreading up his neck to his face, and also the mischievous expression on Annie's.

"But we can't see--" Patrick began to argue.

"That is indeed unfortunate," Loki interrupted. "You were in need of a dictionary?" He had just made a move toward the appropriate shelf-- the librarian could sort out the signing-out procedure later-- when the sound of a large aircraft approaching the school stopped him in his tracks. The boys forgot all about the dictionary and ran toward the windows. Loki and Annie followed them.

The sound was indeed that of a large aircraft: a gigantic airship was hovering a few hundred feet from the ground, a short distance away from the school, its rotors blowing stray papers and debris across the schoolyard.

"Is that the Avengers' helicarrier?" Annie asked. A number of the television news reports about the Avengers had included shots of their mobile command quarters, so Loki nodded.

"I believe it is," he agreed. "I was expecting a less conspicuous entrance. However, we should go speak to them."

"You, anyway," Annie replied. "Since they can't see me."

"Oh, yes." He turned to Patrick and Trevor. "You two should return immediately to your classroom." The two boys completely ignored him and, as he and Annie left the library, they followed.

In fact, by the time Loki emerged from the school, half the teachers and most of the students were either in the yard or peering from the windows. Mentally cursing the entire SHIELD organization, Loki left Annie standing by the building and walked into the middle of the yard to wait for someone to emerge from the helicarrier to speak to him.

Loki was expecting a man in a subdued suit, like the ones who attempted to confront the Destroyer on that particularly unfortunate occasion in New Mexico. He was actually rather curious about how the SHIELD representative was going to exit the helicarrier in midair, and was wondering whether this would be an appropriate time to tender an apology for the Destroyer incident, when a hatch on the side of the airship opened and a red and golden figure flew out.

"It's Iron Man!" Patrick, who was directly behind him, exclaimed--unnecessarily, since even if Loki had not had access to a television, he had encountered a great many action figures of this hero in the past few weeks.

"It certainly is," Loki replied, beginning to feel a twinge of unease. _Why would Iron Man be sent to conduct such a simple interview?_ "Go back into the school immediately." He did not wait to ensure he had been obeyed--he was not--before starting forward again. His protective charm had not been activated by the approach of the airship or the Avenger, which was not surprising since the magic was triggered by the presence of evil. Still, he felt a powerful instinct to draw this encounter as far away from the school as possible.

Loki had almost reached the fence when Iron Man landed, in front of and about twenty feet away from him. The featureless mask retracted from his face, which was some relief, revealing the sardonic visage of Tony Stark, the man behind the superhero.

"I'm looking for Loki Odinson," Stark/Iron Man said, raising his voice above the roar of the helicarrier's engines.

"You have found him," Loki replied evenly. "I presume this is about Steve Rogers?"

"Yes. What did you do to him?" Stark demanded flatly.

The feeling of apprehension became worse. "You have already been to the house?" Loki countered. If a mere image of Thor had frightened Steve so badly, Loki could not begin to imagine how this massive craft and mechanical man would affect him.

"Sure have, and I have to say, credit where it's due, you're obviously good, in a very evil way. He was completely incoherent. Took me and four SHIELD agents to get him into the helicarrier. Sorry about your house."

"You-- What did you do to him?" Loki demanded. Stark looked rather amused at having his own question thrown back at him.

"I think that's my line, kid. It's obvious you've used some kind of magic on him, and we need to know what it is. Now, do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

"I did nothing to him," Loki protested, and then asked the question he should have begun with: "Have you spoken to my brother?"

"Nope. Can't seem to find him, he seems to have gone off sightseeing or something. In the meantime, your reputation has definitely preceded you."

Loki's heart sank. "I think... I think there has been a misunderstanding."

"Oh, sure." Stark smiled, and even in his state of rising alarm Loki registered that the expression rivaled his own best efforts at a sarcastic smirk. Stark went on, "Dr. Foster contacted us and explained you were holding Captain America. Although she seemed to have the impression he was your guest." Stark shook his head in apparent admiration. "You're _good._ Didn't you try to kill her not very long ago?" Loki had no concise response to that question, so he ignored it. Stark went on, "As I say, it doesn't take a wizard to know you magicked Steve--"

"I believe the word you seek is 'ensorceled,' and I had nothing to do with it," Loki replied. "As I explained to Jane in my message, one of my housemates encountered Steve in need of assistance, and we provided it. I am aware that magic was used upon him, but I have no more idea than you what it was. And so, unless you require my assistance in identifying the spell, I believe this concludes our business. I have a considerable mess to deal with in the library, so I will take my leave of you." Loki began to turn away.

Stark took a step forward, and a stone bounced off his metal chest. Loki's head whipped around and Trevor froze in the act of bringing his own rock to throwing position. Loki narrowed his eyes at Patrick, the original culprit.

"We do not throw stones at people. Or superheroes," Loki reminded him. "You will return to your classroom immediately." _Before this mechanical idiot becomes convinced you are my evil minions and does something to hurt you._ Patrick opened his mouth for an inevitable protest and Loki said firmly, "I appreciate your efforts to assist me, but they are inappropriate. Go."

This time, to Loki's relief, the boys obeyed. With a final gesture at Iron Man that Loki strongly suspected was obscene, Patrick turned and scampered toward the door, Trevor following with the rock still clutched in his hand. Loki suspected he would find at least one red-and-golden action figure abandoned in the near future, and that no one would ever come to claim it.

"I apologize for that," he addressed Stark. "Children. Now, if you will excuse me."

The instinct not to turn his back on Stark was powerful within him, but he did not care for the entire school to see him backing away from Iron Man as though afraid of him. And even if he could gather enough magic to give an account of himself, he was certainly not going to engage in battle with an Avenger, even in self-defense: the natural opposite of a superhero was a supervillain, and Loki was not interested in applying for the post.

Loki therefore turned around, cast what he hoped was a reassuring glance at Annie, and began to walk toward her and the school. He was gambling that Stark would not actually attack him in full view of dozens of witnesses, most of them children.

It was just as well Loki had never attempted to support himself by betting on horses.

Even if he had been facing Iron Man, it was very unlikely he could have altered what happened next. Some time previously, his brother and their friend the Lady Sif had paid a visit to Loki and his friends, and the evening had included funny stories of past adventures. Thor had told one about being relatively powerless on Midgard, and encountering a young woman armed with something called a "taser." Being attacked with this weapon did not really sound terribly funny, although Thor seemed amused by the memory.

Loki was not powerless by any means, but without the support of ambient magic he was definitely weaker on Midgard than he would be on another realm. And, as recent encounters with vampires had made clear to him, he was a creature of meat and blood as well as magic, with the vulnerabilities that went with them.

Iron Man did not use a taser on Loki, but the massive jolt of electrical power he fired between the sorcerer's shoulderblades served the same purpose: it scrambled his nerve impulses so that everything shut down, including the ability to control magic. And to breathe.

The dirt schoolyard rushing up to meet him was the last thing Loki saw before blackness descended.


	4. Chapter 4

Loki slouched in the uncomfortable metal chair, trying to give an impression of insolent unconcern. The truth was, he was slumped like this because he lacked the strength to pull himself upright. He could hardly raise his head. It transpired that SHIELD did, apparently, have some experience in dealing with magic: he was shackled to the chair by a series of restraints around his ankles, waist, chest, and wrists, and they had clearly been designed for the containment of sorcerers. The damnable things were draining him, exactly as if he was casting continuous magic while simultaneously bleeding to death. He was so light-headed he could hardly concentrate on the implacable face across the table.

"What did you do to him?" Nick Fury demanded, again, his single dark eye an abyss.

"Nothing," Loki insisted, again, wincing as the word slurred. He closed his eyes in an attempt to focus on his lips, to force them to obey, but as he did so the darkness whirled around him and he had to open them again. Concentrating on a speck on the tabletop to steady himself, Loki repeated, "I did nothing to Steve."

"Oh, so it was all a striking coincidence," Fury said, his tone rising into a parody of surprised innocence. "One of my guys gets a spell put on him that turns him into the Cowardly Lion and makes him think his friends are all trying to kill him or worse, and there just _happens_ to be a damned exiled wizard right there who's already tried to kill _another_ of my guys."

"That is indeed a striking coincidence," Loki agreed, struggling to enunciate his "s" sounds. He tugged weakly at his wrists, where the restraints were actually burning his unprotected skin.

"Nothing to do with you being a power-crazy little psychopath?" Fury demanded.

"Me?" Loki countered. "I am but a humble custodian."

Fury slammed his hand down on the table, and Loki barely resisted the instinct to flinch. He had never been afraid of a human before, but apprehension gripped him now. He was utterly helpless, and Fury was so convinced he was lying, seemed to see the prisoner before him as a problem to solve and nothing else. Loki was beginning to wonder whether Fury would ever release him from the restraints, and what would happen if he did not. Once his magic was gone, would the shackles continue draining him until there was nothing left at all?

Loki fought against the shiver of panic that trailed down his spine.

"Is my brother here?" he managed to ask. He was holding on to the belief that Thor would arrive soon. Surely even Nick Fury would listen to Thor.

The door of the cell slid open and Tony Stark walked in, carrying a cardboard tray with three steaming paper cups upon it. Stark was now in jeans and a t-shirt imprinted with the likeness of Iron Man. Loki could not believe how relieved he was to see him. Anything was better than being here alone with Fury.

Stark handed one of the paper cups to Fury and said casually, "Why don't you leave our friend to me for a bit?"

Fury took the cup of liquid, grunted at Stark, and walked out without a glance at Loki. Stark sat down the chair Fury had just vacated, then leaned across the table to place one of the cups in front of his prisoner.

"I wasn't sure if you'd prefer tea or coffee, but I figure you're practically English so I went with tea. Hope that's all right." Loki looked down at the dark liquid in the cup, and then turned his eyes back to Stark. "Yeah, I see your problem. Tell you what: my buddy Agent Coulson is up in the control room above us. I can get him to release the restraints around your chest and wrists, if you like. Sound good?" Loki remained silent. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' Now, keep in mind the rest of them will still be activated, so if you try anything-- if you make any sudden moves-- if your nose itches and you lift your hand too fast to scratch it-- Coulson will hit you with a jolt that'll make that first one feel like a kiss from your mother. Understood?"

"Understood," Loki murmured.

"Good. You behave yourself and we won't have any trouble," Stark said affably. "I don't particularly want to hurt you." Stark paused, thought, then clarified, "I mean, I don't care, but it'll suit me just as well if I don't have to. All right?"

Loki considered this comment did not call for a response, so he made none. Stark looked up to where, presumably, this Coulson overlooked the cell, and made a gesture. A moment later the restraints around Loki's wrists and chest popped open and retracted. The draining sensation became almost bearable. Loki remained still for a moment, and very carefully did not look at or rub his wrists. However, when he followed Stark's directive to put keep his hands within sight and laid them on the table, the other man took note of the burn marks.

"Restraints too tight?" he asked casually, sipping from his cup.

"No," Loki replied.

"Then what happened there?" Stark persisted. Loki examined his wrists as though noticing the wounds for the first time. He shrugged.

"Magic cannot be bound without consequences to the sorcerer," he replied, trying to match Stark's detached tone.

"Hurt?" Stark asked, and though he had claimed not to care whether his prisoner came to harm, his regard was sharper than it had been.

Loki shrugged again. "Painful, but not serious."

"Are you burned like that anywhere else?" Stark asked.

"No, only where the restraints touched bare flesh." Loki sighed. "This show of concern is unnecessary, Stark. I presume you and Nick Fury are engaging in the tactic depicted in television programs about law enforcement agents, in which one portrays himself to the prisoner as hostile, while the other acts as a friendly and understanding presence."

Stark blinked, appeared to play Loki's words back in his head, and then laughed. "Good cop/bad cop, you mean?" He put down his cup. "Since you're on to me, should I drop the friendly act?"

"Not unless you wish to," Loki replied. "As I am telling you the truth, there is no requirement for manipulation."

Stark leaned back in his chair. "You know, I nearly believe you, when you look all earnest like that. And then I remind myself you're the God of Lies."

Loki shifted to a slightly less uncomfortable position. "Strictly speaking, of course, I am not a god at all. That was a misconception by a primitive society."

"Oh yeah? They told some pretty good stories, though," Stark persisted. "I particularly liked the one about you giving birth to your dad's eight-legged horse. Any truth to that?"

Loki cocked an eyebrow. "You do realize the Vikings drank a great deal, do you not?"

Stark grinned. "How about the one where the dwarves sewed your lips shut?"

Loki produced what he hoped was a convincing facsimile of his old sarcastic smirk. "Now that just sounds like wishful thinking."

"So that isn't where the scar on your lip came from?" Stark persisted.

Loki reached up to touch the mark on his upper lip. "No. This is the result of an altercation between myself and my friend the Lady Sif, when we were children." Stark looked inquiring and Loki elaborated, "I gave her... an unfortunate haircut... and she gave me a blow to the mouth." He joined Stark in a cackle of laughter at what, after centuries of resentment, now struck him as a harmlessly amusing memory.

"You friend must pack quite a punch," Stark observed.

"You have no idea," Loki replied. "I lost two milk teeth in the incident." He laughed again, at the memory of Eir alternately scolding and comforting him as she healed his mouth.

Stark smiled companionably and said, "Seriously, Loki, what did you do to Steve?"

Loki sobered. "Seriously, Tony Stark, I did nothing to him at all. He was, as the children say, like that when we found him."

Stark looked disappointed. "And here I thought we were getting along so well."

Loki felt the shiver of fear return. "I am telling you the truth."

"You can't possibly expect anyone to believe that. Not a guy with your history."

"A history invented by drunken primitives," Loki snapped, anxiety making him sharp.

"I mean your fairly recent history," Stark clarified. "The attack on Puente Antigua, that whole business of trying to kill Thor--"

Loki felt himself go stiff. "I am truly sorry for all of it."

"Really? Well, you certainly created the impression of being quite an aspiring young supervillain," Stark said relentlessly.

Loki felt a rush of genuine emotion, which he tried to mask with the comment, "Oh, really, you try to destroy one realm--"

Stark tilted his head on one side. "I can't imagine you actually think that's funny."

"I do not," Loki admitted. "But my apologies are not owed to you, Tony Stark." Stark nodded, as though conceding the point. Slightly calmer now, Loki went on reasonably, "Heimdall, the Guardian of Asgard, has his eyes upon me. When Thor arrives, he can speak to Heimdall and relay to you what he saw." Loki clung to the idea that Thor would come. Sooner or later, he would arrive, and they would listen to him, and these accursed restraints would be removed.

It occurred to Loki that he could not recall the last time he had found himself in trouble and had been so certain his brother would take his part.

Stark looked thoughtful, as though, against his will, he was beginning to believe Loki.

And just at that, there was a commotion outside the cell. Loki's heart gave a violent thump of relief as he recognized his brother's voice. Stark turned as the door opened behind him and Thor stalked in. Ignoring Stark completely, Thor went to Loki, laid a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to where Coulson presumably overlooked them.

"Release him," Thor commanded. "Do you hear me?" He could probably be heard in Asgard. "Release my brother now." Nothing happened, except that the fear went away. Thor patted Loki and started for the door, presumably to go deal with Coulson himself. Stark, apparently still relaxed in his chair, reached out and caught Thor by the arm.

"Okay, buddy, how about you calm down here."

Thor looked down at the Iron Man. "Do not interfere, Stark. You have no need to become involved in this."

Loki was not terribly surprised when Stark ignored the suggestion. "It's just an investigation, man. We need to figure out what happened to Steve."

" _My brother_ is not to blame," Thor insisted, flicking a reassuring glance at Loki. "He has already explained the nature of his involvement."

"And you believe him?" Stark asked, releasing Thor's arm and then raising his hands at the expression on Thor's face. "Sorry, fine, of course you do. He's innocent as a spotless lamb. Have you spoken to Steve yet?"

"That is not my primary concern," Thor ground out, and looked back up at the observation window. "Coulson, if you do not free my brother immediately, I will do it myself, and the effects on this vessel will not be pleasant."

"Thor, that's enough," Loki said quietly. He was beginning to think Thor was actually angry enough to carry out his threat. Thor was perfectly capable of getting himself and Loki out of the vessel before it crashed, but there were a great many other people in the helicarrier. And on the ground beneath it.

"Listen to him, Thor," Stark said calmly.

The door opened again and Nick Fury walked in.

"Odinson," the one-eyed man said flatly, "I appreciate your loyalty to your brother. I do. It's touching. But I've spoken to Rogers, and all he remembers before he blacked out is a figure in a green cape. You got a green cape?" he addressed Loki.

"Yes," Loki admitted. "At least, I believe I still do. I seem to recollect packing it in a box in the cellar, along with my other Asgardian effects. I have not looked for it in months."

"Anyone might have a green cape!" Thor protested, replacing his hand on Loki's shoulder.

"Does 'anyone' have an alibi for the night of the storm?" Fury asked. Loki looked blankly at him and Fury elaborated, "Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?"

"My housemates, Mitchell and Annie," Loki replied. "We were all at home together. When the power failed, we lit some candles. I cast a few illusions to amuse them, and then Annie showed me how to make a shadow that resembled a rabbit." Stark let out a muffled snort of laughter. Loki, addressing him directly, went on earnestly, "Annie's were more lifelike than mine."

"I'm sure she's very talented," Stark snickered.

"I already have spoken to Heimdall the Guardian," Thor spoke up, which at least explained where he had been all this time. "He confirms my brother's account."

"What, that Annie makes better shadow-bunnies?"

"Shut up, Stark," Fury snapped. "Odinson, I'll need more than the word of some intergalactic doorman before I let my only suspect go."

"Look, Fury, it's pretty clear Loki's telling the truth," Stark said unexpectedly. "I've read about this Heimdall character. He doesn't lie, and you know Thor doesn't, either. Besides, those restraints are obviously doing a number on him. It'll be hours before he's strong enough to cause any trouble even if he wants to. How about we just leave him loose in here while you do whatever you need to do to verify his story?"

Loki turned a look of disbelieving gratitude on Stark as Fury demanded,

"Have you lost your damn mind?"

Stark shrugged. "He might still turn out to be a deranged little maniac, but I've got to admit, I'm starting to like him. And as I say, I think he's telling the truth, which means he's a wizard who could be on our side. That's what we need to fix Steve, right?"

Fury glared generally around the room, then gestured at the observation window and stalked out of the cell. As the door closed behind Fury, the last of the restraints opened. Loki reflexively shot to his feet and would have fallen if Thor had not caught him. Stark, apparently understanding the impulse driving Loki, pushed the second chair toward him.

 

~oOoOoOo~

 

Loki had no sense of how much time passed while he waited for Nick Fury to return. Thor remained protectively beside him, so Loki gave in to weakness and stayed in the second, harmless chair, arms folded on the table and head resting upon them. After apologizing for taking so long to arrive, Thor had very little to say, but he laid one hand on the back of Loki's head and the weight of it was reassuring.

Fury would end in believing the truth of Loki's story. He had to. The alternative was simply not to be considered. If Fury's men tried to put him back in the restraints, they were just going to have to be prepared to kill him.

Which, of course, they probably were.

When the cell door slid open again, Loki raised his head to see not Fury, but Stark. The Iron Man smiled in a perfectly friendly way.

"Can you walk?" he asked. "Fury wants to speak to you, and I figure you might be just about ready to get out of here."

"Good cop," Loki murmured as he rose to his feet. Thor looked puzzled, but Stark's smile widened.

"Yes, exactly. Come on up to the observation deck."

The observation deck overlooked the flight deck of the helicarrier in one direction, and from the other commanded a view of the vessel's flight path. It appeared possible to see all the way to the ocean.

The chairs in this room looked a great deal more comfortable than the ones in the cell, but Loki preferred to stand, at least as long as his strength lasted. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, as he waited for Fury to speak. Stark copied Loki's pose, although with a greater degree of insouciant elegance than Loki could command in his current condition. Meanwhile, Thor folded his arms and took up a posture that indicated anyone who attempted to harm his little brother again would live to regret it, but not for very long.

Fury, unsurprisingly, seemed entirely unintimidated.

"Sorry about the misunderstanding," he said flatly, which Loki understood was the closest thing to a heartfelt apology he was going to get from the one-eyed man. Loki was in no mood to argue.

"These things happen," Loki replied agreeably.

"Right. Okay, if I accept that you were actually trying to help Rogers, it seems to me you're probably still willing to do so."

Loki smiled at Fury. "And, naturally, if I refuse, I am perfectly free to go."

"You are indeed," Thor growled.

"Oh, yes," Fury nodded. "You're perfectly free to go back to your job and explain why Iron Man showed up and arrested you."

"Sorry about that," Stark murmured.

Loki had been thinking about it. "Yes, I'm quite aware how that incident must have looked. I probably have no job to go back to."

"I'm sure those two little rock-throwers would vouch for you," Stark said.

Ignoring Stark, Fury offered, "Of course, if you chose to help us, I'd be willing to speak to your employer."

"I'd be likelier to believe the two kids," Stark mused.

"Shut up, Stark. What do you say?"

Loki smiled again. "I appreciate the offer. And you are correct about my willingness to assist Steve. I like him." A thought struck him. "He reminds me a little of my friend Annie."

Thor looked startled. "That had not occurred to me, but--yes. Their personalities are similar."

Stark opened his mouth and, without looking at him, Fury said, "Stark, if you say one word about Rogers and shadow-rabbits, I'll kill you myself. All we need you to do, Odinson, is take the spell off Rogers."

Loki gently shook his head. "I"m afraid it is not that simple." Fury became much larger in his chair and Loki went on, "I am not refusing to help. But one cannot simply remove a spell as though it was an unwanted coat. It is more... like the effect of your pharmaceuticals." Fury frowned, but this time in thought. Loki elaborated, "If someone has taken an unknown drug that affects him badly, you do not simply give him more drugs at random to try to reverse the effects. You would be likely to kill him."

"So you need to know what kind of spell it is," Fury said slowly.

"Exactly. Or at least something about the sorcerer who cursed him. It can be done, and I am willing to do my best, but I will need assistance, and you will need to be patient."

"Fair enough," said Fury.

Somewhat encouraged, Loki broached another matter that had been worrying him. "The other thing that concerns me is this: as you have noticed yourself, one of the effects of the spell was to make Steve afraid of his old associates. My friends and I showed him a picture of Thor and it terrified him. Stark's and your descriptions of his demeanour since your arrival make it appear he has not lost any of that fear."

"No," Fury admitted. "When I talked to him it was pretty clear he expected me to drag him outside and shoot him any minute. And he kept wanting to know what we were doing to you. He was pretty worried about that."

"Being brought here by force cannot have helped the situation either," Loki noted. "Very well. You say he appeared concerned about my fate?" Fury nodded. "In that case, it would probably be best if he maintained contact with my friends and me. It would certainly be unsafe to return him to our house-- " Stark looked sheepish and Loki sighed. "Even if it is still in habitable condition." Stark shook his head sadly. Loki tried not to think about it. "It is also possible that whoever placed the curse on Steve will come looking for him, and may even track him to our house. What is left of our house. It would certainly not be safe to take him back there."

"Damn straight," Fury said flatly. "He's definitely staying here. But now that you mention it, it's probably best if you stay here and we bring your friends to join you. I'll send a couple of agents to pick them up."

"Would it be possible for Thor to go as well?" Loki requested hesitantly. "My housemates know him." And he could _see_ all of them.

"I would be happy to do that," Thor spoke up instantly. Fury shrugged.

"Sure. Fine with me. The last thing we need is for whoever did this to Steve to grab your friends and try to distract you."

"You're all heart, Fury," Tony Stark said pleasantly.

"Shut up, Stark."


	5. Chapter 5

"Loki! Thank God you're all right!" Annie exclaimed, making a run at Loki and throwing her arms around his neck.

"Yes, I am fine. It was all a misunderstanding," Loki assured her as he hugged back. Annie pulled her head back just far enough to give him an incredulous look.

"I'm glad _your_ definition of 'a misunderstanding' is broad enough to include getting _electrocuted_ and _kidnapped_ \--"

"It was not quite that bad," Loki said soothingly. "I recovered very quickly." It was true: according to Stark, Loki had even been breathing unassisted by the time they put him in the restraints, and he had recovered consciousness shortly afterward. By Asgardian standards, really, the incident was almost not worth speaking of.

And none of this seemed like the sort of thing he should relate to Annie, particularly not with Stark right there.

The Iron Man was looking at Loki in considerable puzzlement, which reminded Loki that Stark could not see or hear Annie and was therefore observing only one side of both the conversation and the embrace. Loki had decided he liked Stark, and therefore did not plan to hold a grudge over the incident in the schoolyard, but the expression on the Iron Man's face was too amusing not to enjoy for a while longer.

"Invisible friend, Loki?" Stark asked finally.

"Tell him I'm your invisible girlfriend," Annie suggested, poking Loki gently just below the ribs, where it transpired he was quite ticklish. It was interesting, really, that he had lived a thousand years and had somehow never discovered that before.

The look on Stark's face just kept getting better, but Loki relented slightly.

"I am a sorcerer, remember? My friends also have... supernatural characteristics."

"I see," Stark mused.

Mitchell and George, who had been hanging back a step, now got involved, Mitchell simply reaching over Annie to hug Loki.

"You're sure you're all right?" the vampire asked.

"Yes. I might ask the same of you," Loki replied. "I understand the condition of our house is… distressing."

"The condition of our house is, it's an _ex-house_ ," George announced, in a voice high with rage.

"Sorry about that," murmured Stark.

"It's not quite that bad," Mitchell, always optimistic, assured him.

"It most certainly _is_ that bad," George insisted. "What the hell happened? Annie showed up at the hospital and told us you'd been abducted by Iron Man--"

"Oh, come on. _Arrested_ , maybe," Stark protested. If it had not been so soon after the full moon, perhaps George would have reacted less violently, but as it was he turned a bloodthirsty glare on Stark, pushed his spectacles firmly up his nose, and practically shrieked,

"In this country, being _'arrested'_ involves police officers and warrants and _legal representation._ When someone, including a superhero, just _shows up at your job_ and _zaps you with electricity_ and _drags you away to God-knows-where_ , that's being _abducted_."

"Exactly," Annie agreed, obviously beginning to get angry all over again.

"And I'm sure he's very sorry for doing it," Mitchell spoke up quickly, glancing at Stark as though trying to calculate exactly how much of this he would put up with before remembering he had superpowers.

Loki was quite sure Stark was not _very_ sorry for his actions, but the Iron Man responded to Mitchell's pleading look and said, apparently sincerely,

"I really do apologize. Thor's explained the… flaws in my reasoning, and I promise it won't happen again."

"Great, wonderful, so we're all friends now, right?" Mitchell exclaimed, looking nervously at Loki for confirmation. Loki nodded. Annie looked disbelieving and George was irate.

"You're just going to let it go?" he demanded. Annie made noises of agreement. Mitchell began to look desperate.

"I consider this a matter of personal growth," Loki explained piously. "It is _good_ for me to… let things go."

Neither George nor Annie appeared convinced, and indeed, Stark began to look suspicious as well. It occurred to Loki, with regard to Stark, that he was probably viewing yet another illustration of the Midgardian maxim, "It takes one to know one."

"Truly, it is over and we have more important things to think about now," Loki said rapidly, wondering if he could take Thor aside and ask him not to mention the cell or the restraints to the housemates. "I have made an agreement to aid the Avengers in finding out who cursed Steve, and what manner of spell it was. I hope I can count on your assistance?"

The hopeful look he turned on his friends was not merely for effect: since moving into the house, Loki had tagged along on a number of adventures related mostly to vampire activity in Bristol. He had not, however, led any quests of his own. In fact, as far as he could recall this was the first time he had _ever_ been in a position to ask anyone to follow him into _anything._ It was an unnerving experience.

"Of course," Mitchell said immediately, as George and Annie nodded.

"And speaking of Steve, how is he?" George asked.

"He is much the same as he was, although perhaps a little more genuinely fearful," Loki admitted. "Perhaps we should begin by, what is the expression, 'filling in the blanks' with regard to him. Tony Stark, you... visited our house... before you came to the school to find me. What happened?"

At this, Stark began to look quite genuinely uneasy. Fidgeting slightly, he explained,

"Well, we got the message from Jane Foster." He glanced around the group and seemed to decide to begin at the beginning. "Obviously, we were out looking for Steve after we lost him in that battle--"

"--I think we should leave that part until later," Loki interrupted, when it appeared Stark was going to begin at the very beginning. He prompted, "Your colleague Mr. Coulson received word from Jane that Steve was with us."

"Yes. It seemed awfully weird that he'd just vanished like that. Jane said he was with you, and as I say, it was clear from her message that she knew he was a guest. But, well, your reputation kind of preceded you, Loki."

"What does that mean?" Loki replied.

"It means that SHIELD has a file on you, covering your... adventures on Earth, from the time Thor arrived in New Mexico until he returned home to... have a word with you." Loki had to concede that span of time would not give anyone the most favourable impression of his character or intentions. "And, of course, they know the mythology. Which, as you kindly pointed out to me, is pretty much entirely the inventions of primitive people who drank too much." Stark paused, then asked wistfully, "Is the helmet for real?"

"The one with horns? Yes. The helmet is for real," Loki admitted.

"Good. The helmet is _awesome_ ," Stark said happily.

"I have no idea what has become of it," Loki told him. "I lost it in the explosion when the first Bifrost was destroyed."

"Mother has it," Thor spoke up for the first time. "Or, rather, I believe it is now in your old chambers, along with your other belongings."

Loki was touched by the sentiment implied by Thor's words, although in his memory his chambers were cold and stank of loneliness and anger. The horned helmet was a suitable memorial to those times.

"Very well," he addressed Stark. "You received the message explaining where to find Steve. And you came to our house?"

George made a noise that suggested he was going to disregard the phase of the moon and turn into a wolfman again on the spot. Stark looked apologetic as he resumed his story.

"Right, well, we went to your house."

"Jane did not pass on the message that it was wisest to speak to one of us at another location first?" Loki asked.

"Well, yes she did, but we thought you were holding Steve hostage so we figured we'd go directly to the rescue," Stark explained uncomfortably.

"And this did not proceed exactly as you expected?" Loki asked, arching one eyebrow.

"Um, no. I banged on the door, and when nobody opened it I, um, kind of did it myself. And then Steve threw the sofa at me, and it all went downhill from there."

Loki had in the past been accused of having an unusual sense of humour, which had always struck him as unfair. However, despite his very real sympathy for how terrified poor Steve must have been, he was suddenly visited with a mental image that gave him a powerful urge to laugh. For the sake of time and his reputation, he controlled it.

"Very well. You... captured Steve." Stark nodded. "And then you came to the school to find me." Loki thought it best to skip over that part of the story. "We all know what happened there. Annie, you say you then went to the hospital to find George and Mitchell?"

"Okay, I don't think it's fair the invisible friend tells the story," Stark spoke up. "Considering I can't see her." Loki sighed, reached out with his right hand, and laid it on Stark's shoulder. Stark blinked and then smiled charmingly at Annie. "Well, hello there."

"Truly, Stark, you are worse than Fandral," Thor sighed.

Annie, rather to Loki's concealed relief, was unmoved by the charm offensive.

"Hello," she said coldly. "Yes. I went to the hospital to find the boys, and then we all went home to check on Steve. Who was missing. Along with the front door and the windows." Stark gave an apologetic shrug. Annie went on, "We had no idea where he was, or you, so we were trying to clear up some of the mess and figure out where to start looking when Thor showed up with that man."

"Phil Coulson," said the man in the sober suit, with a neutral smile, when he realized everyone was looking at him. The fact he was missing part of the conversation did not seem to concern him..

"Thor explained that you were both safe, and that it was best if we joined you," Annie said. "So I packed the boys a bag and got some of your things together--"

"We would have helped her," George announced, in his high-pitched voice of fury, "but Annie was the only one who could get upstairs _without a staircase._ "

Loki's mouth dropped open. "Please tell me you are joking."

"I'm as serious as a superhero battle," George snarled.

"SHIELD will look after that," Coulson promised.

"I'd love to know how you plan to explain it to the rest of the street," George snapped.

Coulson shrugged. "The street's been cleared. Gas explosion. Fortunately, nobody was home when it happened. We've put the neighbours up in a hotel while we, or should I say your insurance company, investigate the leak and repair your house."

George stared at the quiet agent. "A 'gas explosion'? And how do you explain Iron Man tearing the front door off the hinges?"

Coulson shrugged. "Never happened. The official story is a gas explosion. Repeat it often enough and people will believe it."

"Really," George said.

"It's astonishing what you can convince people of," Coulson said calmly.

"It is true," Loki agreed. "Apparently, half this realm believes I go around giving birth to horses."

"It was just one horse," Stark said. "Foal, I suppose."

"I think it's best if we don't think about the mechanics," Mitchell winced.

"I agree," Loki winced back. He turned to Thor. "So much for what happened today. We--" he indicated himself and his housemates--"still do not know what happened the night Steve suffered his, his injury. Perhaps you and Tony Stark could explain it to us."

"It was quite confusing at the time," Thor admitted. "We became aware of magical activity in that forest, and we simply went to investigate. Honestly, brother, I thought it might be you."

"Me?" Loki tried not to sound hurt, but Thor looked shamefaced and said quickly,

"There seemed to be no harm being done, merely unexplained magic. We merely went to determine its source. I thought perhaps you were practicing spells in case the vampires returned to pose further danger. When Stark, Rogers and I went to investigate, I was expecting to simply introduce you to my companions and then perhaps return to pay a visit to your household."

"Oh," Loki said, relieved.

"When we entered the forest, the magic became aggressive, and so I knew it was not you," Thor went on, looking earnestly at Loki as if to convince him. "We could not place our attacker, there seemed nothing to fight, and so I called down the storm to protect us. Steve became separated from us, and it was some time before Stark and I returned to the carrier and realized he had not come back on his own. We returned to the forest to look for him, but there was a great deal of magic still present and so I believe our adversary must have hidden him from us--though apparently not from George. It is a very good thing you were there to find him," Thor added, with a warm smile in George's direction.

"Okay, I'm not entirely clear about one thing," Stark spoke up. "What in the name of sanity were you doing out there in the woods during a thunderstorm like that? Or in fact, just what were you doing in the woods at night at all?"

George pushed his spectacles up his nose and frowned at Stark. "It was the full moon," he replied.

Stark raised his eyebrows. "You're an astronomer?"

"No, I'm a werewolf," George replied huffily.

It took Stark a moment to realize this was not sarcasm.

"You're a what?" he said then, in a voice polite with shock.

"You did not mention this to your companions?" Loki asked Thor in an aside.

"No. Nor did you tell Stark," Thor reminded him.

"I'm a werewolf," George was repeating, in an offended voice.

Stark nodded, looking nearly as stunned as Steve had the morning George brought him home.

"Okay, let me see if I've got this straight," he said carefully. "Your household, Loki, consists of a wizard, an invisible girl, a werewolf, and... an Irish guy?"

Everyone looked at Mitchell, who sighed.

Then his eyes went black and his lips drew back from his fangs.

"Holy _shit,_ " Stark said, backing up a step so Loki almost lost his grip. Mitchell shrugged and returned to his normal, friendly aspect. Coulson merely looked interested.

"Vampire," Mitchell explained unnecessarily.

"I'm a ghost," Annie added helpfully.

"Of course you are," Stark nodded. "Does Steve know about you?"

"Not really," Mitchell said. "Loki explained about himself, but we thought piling on too many details might not be a good idea, in the state he was in."

"I am in full sympathy with that decision," Stark said decidedly.

"It is, perhaps, time to be more forthcoming with him," Loki suggested. "And at least to find out exactly what he remembers of that night."

Stark glanced at Coulson.

"I'll sit this one out, I think," he said.

"Good idea," Coulson agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh _hell_ no," Nick Fury said. "If you're interviewing Rogers about what happened in the forest, I'm going to be in on it."

Loki tried not to look impatient. "If you are, as you say, 'in on it,' it is very unlikely Steve will say anything useful. He thinks you are his enemy."

"But you're going to explain to him that it's just a spell, right?" Fury demanded, his one eye glinting dangerously.

Fortunately, now that he was not trussed in restraints that made him feel like everything vital was being sucked out of him, nor fearful of being served the same way again if he made a false move, Loki was able to remain composed in the face of Fury's regard.

"You appear to be threatening me, Nick Fury," he said calmly. "I do not believe you mean to do so, but it is a most unfortunate impression. Is this how you addressed Steve when you spoke to him?"

"I'm the director of a US government agency, not Mary Fucking Poppins," Fury replied. Loki, mystified, glanced at his friends for translation.

"Mary Poppins was a character in a book-- a magical person who looked after children. They probably have a copy in your school's library," George explained. "You might like it."

"There was a movie as well. Some of the songs were pretty good, although Dick Van Dyke's Cockney accent should have been destroyed with fire," Mitchell added helpfully.

"I liked Dick Van Dyke in that role," Annie objected. "He was sweet."

"Well, obviously, but that doesn't mean his accent wasn't an abomination," Mitchell argued.

"Thank you," Loki said, and turned back to Fury, whose expression indicated his name had never seemed more appropriate in the whole of their brief acquaintance. "Truly, Nick Fury, I am not trying to render your life or your job more troublesome. But surely there is some place in this vehicle where you can observe our conversation without forcing Steve to deal with your presence." Fury opened his mouth, possibly to incinerate Loki with a breath of flame. Loki raised his hands in a gesture that indicated he was unarmed, and sportsmanship therefore forbade violence against him. "It is necessary that you understand the situation, Fury. You cannot order Steve to lose his fear. He already knows it is the result of a spell. He already knows it is irrational. That does not prevent him from experiencing it."

Fury suddenly deflated. "All right. I'm being unreasonable. It's just that he was always so brave."

Loki blinked, confused. "He is still brave. He is merely experiencing a great deal of fear at the moment. The spell is to blame, but the circumstances under which he came to be aboard this vessel have not helped, nor has his treatment since his arrival."

"We haven't done anything to him," Fury insisted, but now he sounded defensive.

"Anything aside from locking him up, which I understand you believed to be for his own protection, and instilling anxiety about the fates of those he believes he can trust. Surely you can understand how these actions have exacerbated the effects of the spell: his fears no longer seem entirely irrational to him. It therefore seems to me most unwise for you, or Iron Man, or any of the agents present at his capture, to present themselves to him until he has had a chance to calm down. I do, however, understand your wish to have a representative of your group present, and a possible solution has occurred to me."

"Which is-- ?" Fury prompted.

"Admittedly, when we showed him an image of my brother Thor, it also frightened him. But Thor did not actually participate in any of the… activities… that have combined to make Steve's state of mind worse, so he would be a better option than most of you. Also, of course, my friends and I can vouch for his harmlessness."

Everyone looked at the enormous, heavily-armored thunderer. Thor looked back with his most disarming smile. Had there been little birds in the helicarrier, they would assuredly have been landing upon his shoulders. Mary Poppins, whoever she was, could not have looked more harmless.

"Huh," Fury grunted, but it was a grunt of acquiescence.

His point made, Loki went on,

"I think it would also be beneficial if we could bring Steve from his… room… to a more open location, to demonstrate that neither he nor we are prisoners. Thor can meet us there, and we can ask Steve what he remembers. Does this seem reasonable?"

Fury hesitated, as though calculating the chances it was all some sort of trick. Then he nodded.

~oOoOo~

Agent Coulson escorted the housemates to Steve's door, which was still locked from the outside. This struck Loki as an exceedingly poor way to convince the stricken Avenger that he was not in fact a prisoner, but he swallowed his annoyance and knocked politely.

"Steve? It is Loki. I am here with Annie, George, and Mitchell. May we enter?" At an assent from within, Agent Coulson entered a code on a keypad. The door slid open, and Coulson withdrew down the corridor. The four housemates entered the room, and Loki found himself suddenly filled with apprehension. Suppose Steve no longer recognized them as friends? Worse, suppose he, Loki, was unable to do anything to help?

The first of Loki's worries was banished immediately when Steve came right over and hugged each of the four in turn.

"I'm so glad to see you," he said, his voice unsteady. "I was telling myself all kinds of terrible things they were probably doing to you-- "

Loki made a mental note to ask Thor never to mention the cell or the restraints to anyone he knew.

"As you can see, none of them were true," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone he hoped would be reassuring.

Steve nodded, rubbing his forehead. "I know that. I mean, I knew it already, consciously, but I have this voice in the back of my mind, telling me terrifying things. And when I'm alone I can't figure out what's true and what isn't. I'm glad you guys are all right, but I'm also really glad you're here, because you can tell me I'm just being stupid."

"You're not 'being stupid,'" Annie said sharply.

"If you were chained to a wall, you wouldn't be 'stupid' because you couldn't move," George added, which Loki thought a rather apt analogy.

"Exactly," Mitchell nodded. "Whatever cursed you is powerful and nasty, and you don't know how to fight it yet."

"It's definitely been winning so far," Steve mumbled. Loki folded his arms and regarded Steve with a raised eyebrow. Seeing the expression, Steve explained feebly, "I've turned into a complete coward."

"Indeed?" Loki asked, hearing sarcasm ooze into his tone. "And you demonstrate this how, exactly? By panicking and running away when a mechanical man attempts to abduct you?" It would have been better for the house if Steve had done exactly that, but this was not the time to bring that up. "By thinking of no one but yourself and your own fear, and forgetting about what might be happening to your friends?"

Steve chewed on his lower lip, looking stung. But he also looked as though he could almost understand the point Loki was trying to make, except that the voice in his head was confusing him. "I didn't do anything like that."

"Of course not. You have been confused and frightened, but have continued to do the things you need to do. That is not cowardice. The stories told of the Avengers say that you were a soldier in the great war of the 1940s." Steve nodded. "And you were very small and weak, yet you volunteered repeatedly until you were finally selected for this super-soldier program?" Steve nodded again. "Well, when you were small and weak, were you ever in a situation in which you experienced fear?"

"Of course," Steve replied sharply, as if Loki's needling tone had gotten under his skin. "I didn't give in to it, though. The important thing was to keep doing what I needed to do." Steve abruptly fell silent, staring at Loki, who regarded him with raised eyebrows. Reluctantly, a smile tugged at the corner of Steve's mouth. "You twisty psychological bastard," he murmured.

Loki placed a hand over his heart and sketched a bow. "I will take that as a compliment. Put briefly, you have indeed been cursed with fear, but the sorcerer who cursed you has still failed."

Steve obviously wanted to believe Loki, but was afraid it was all a comforting lie. Loki held his confident expression, hoping the others could not tell that parts of his speech were indeed comforting lies-- with no idea who or what was behind the curse, he could not guarantee a favourable outcome. However, Steve was a soldier, so part of him probably understood that Loki was telling him what he needed to hear to encourage the desirable outcome. There was no shame, and very little deception, in that.

Abruptly, Steve said, in a wryly humorous tone, "As long as you don't tell me Nick Fury is one of those friends you mentioned, because I don't think I'd believe that even if I wasn't under a curse."

"I agree, he is formidable, but I think perhaps that is just his way. He may be very fond of small animals and… and his grandmother," Loki offered. Steve gave him a sharp look and Loki smiled. "I am kidding. I am fairly sure he does not possess a grandmother."

"Probably hatched from an egg buried in the sand," Steve muttered. Loki smiled again.

"Now, are you ready to leave this room, and perhaps look out a window?"

~oOoOo~

Following detailed and extremely accurate directions from Agent Coulson, Loki was able to lead his little group back to the observation deck. By now the sun had set, and the sight of lights below them and stars coming out above was both beautiful and soothing.

As they entered the room, Thor raised a hand in greeting from a chair at the conference table. He sat on the side of the table away from the door, and did not rise. Despite a careful explanation of who he would see and why he was not to be feared, Steve still caught his breath in a sound of near-panic. Then he exhaled, and followed as Loki approached the table. Annie, in a previously-arranged gesture, immediately went over to sit in a chair right next to Thor. As hoped, this concrete expression of Annie's lack of fear seemed to make some impact on Steve's state of mind.

He still made a careful survey of the chairs before he selected one, directly across the table from Thor, which put him in a good position to defend George and Mitchell if Thor suddenly turned violent, and meant he would only need to spring across the table if Thor attacked Annie or Loki.

Obviously, none of this was actually going to happen, but it was evident by the way Steve dealt with his fear that Loki had been right: the unknown sorcerer was making Captain America's life miserable, but had failed nevertheless.

Loki steepled his fingers, decided this made him look like a gloating villain, and folded his hands before him on the tabletop instead.

"Thor and Steve, both of you were in the forest the night before last, when the event happened. Thor, Steve's memory of the incident appears to be incomplete. Could you repeat what you have told the rest of us regarding how you all came to be there?"

"Certainly, brother," Thor replied, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table. He did so with an economy of words that impressed Loki considerably: in Asgard, of course, all tales of battle would be embellished in the re-telling until even those who were there at the time doubted the veracity of their own recollections. Thor was as famous for his extravagant boasts as he was for his extravagant deeds, but now he limited himself to what sounded like the bare facts, in an effort to assist Steve with his memory. Loki had often thought, recently, that exile on Midgard had turned out to be a very good thing for his brother, but now he caught himself wondering whether he had simply been unfair to Thor for all these years.

"I don't remember very much about it," Steve admitted finally. "I do remember being out in the storm, how hard it was raining. There were flashes in the sky and I couldn't tell if it was lightning or Stark's jets. I was walking toward the centre of the storm and a figure appeared, almost right beside me."

"Were you able to see it clearly?" Loki asked gently.

Steve shook his head. "Not that I remember. That could be the spell, or it could just be that it was so dark. I do remember he was wearing some kind of a green cape or a cloak, and he had dark hair." Loki experienced a moment of gratitude that Nick Fury was not in the room to hear this. "I don't remember anything about his face, but he had a… a terrible purring voice, with an English accent." Loki was _extremely_ grateful Fury wasn't present right now. Steve looked at Loki and added, "It was like yours, but the voice sounded a lot older. He sounded a bit like… like Sydney Greenstreet." Loki glanced around the table and found three confused faces and Mitchell nodding in comprehension. Perhaps Mitchell could enlighten them all, later.

Steve continued with his story. "He said something about what each of us brought to the battle, that all I had was courage and so he was going to take it, and there was another flash and something… hit me. That's the last thing I remember until what I guess was the next morning, when George just seemed to be there, asking if I was okay." He looked at George. "I was so grateful someone was there to help that I never even asked what you were doing out there. You looked like you'd had a rough night, too."

George looked uneasy. "Well. Now that you mention it…"

Humans would never cease to bewilder Loki: after all the anxiety he and his housemates had gone through, wondering how Steve would react to the revelation of their respective supernatural statuses, he accepted the information perfectly calmly. Even the news that he was sitting right beside a vampire did not shake him. It was clear he believed Mitchell, he just did not seem afraid of him.

"This may tell us something about the sorcerer," Loki realized. "He may have believed he was robbing you of your courage, when in fact all he did was burden you with a fairly specific set of fears. You fear your old companions, but not your new ones, and really, if you were going to be afraid of anyone-- "

"Vampires and werewolves, and ghosts, oh my," Annie murmured. Steve, looking deeply relieved, smiled at her.

"So this spell isn't as serious as we thought?" he asked Loki, hopefully.

"I think it would be a bad mistake for us to be overconfident," Loki cautioned. "But it does indeed appear the original sorcerer may himself have been arrogant. Wizards are like anyone else, prone to conceit and boasting."

"Oh, surely not, brother," Thor murmured. Loki favoured his sibling with a raised eyebrow: this new command of sarcasm was not unwelcome, but it was surprising.

Of course, Thor had been spending a great deal of time recently in the company of Tony Stark…

"I think perhaps the next course is to return to the forest," Loki decided. "Steve, it may be best if you do not accompany us." Steve looked prepared to protest and Loki reluctantly overruled him. "Thor mentioned lingering magic, and it would be most unfortunate if it was still able to affect you."

"What if Annie and I stay with Steve, just to remind him when it's the spell talking, and Loki and George go back to the forest with Thor?" Mitchell suggested.

"That seems reasonable," Loki agreed, looking at George and Thor for their reactions.

"Sure. Field trip," George agreed.

"I do not believe there were any fields nearby," Thor began, but stopped when Loki made a gesture indicating he would explain the idiom later. "Very well. There is a lounge on this vessel where the three of you may find amusements to pass the time."

"Do you two know how to play poker?" Steve asked hopefully.

~oOoOo~

There was a discussion of whether it might be best to wait until morning before visiting the forest, but in the end they decided not to. This was partly to avoid antagonizing the impatient Fury, and partly because the trace magic had already had time to deteriorate, and Loki was concerned about waiting any longer.

The group on the "field trip" was comprised of Loki, George, Thor, Tony Stark suited as Iron Man, and Agent Coulson. Loki was torn between relief that Fury had declined to join them, and worry about what he might be doing back on the helicarrier. Loki had no confidence at all in Fury's patience, and he hoped the one-eyed man was not interrogating Steve again. Fortunately, Mitchell's patience was unquestioned, so there was very little likelihood of Fury exasperating him into some sort of vampire-related disaster.

Surely not.

"We were about half a mile in that direction," Stark explained, gesturing. Coulson looked as nearly annoyed as could be imagined.

"Through the woods," he said, deadpan. "In the dark."

Loki's night vision was actually very good, and this soon after the full moon George's senses were highlighted as well.

"I found Steve a couple of miles in that direction," George said, with a gesture of his own. Loki was aware of Coulson rolling his eyes.

"So we'll begin where the fight happened, and then try to track Steve's movements," Stark suggested. The others were agreeable. "You picking up any magic right now, Loki?"

"Not at the moment," Loki replied.

Coulson reached into his coat and brought out an electric torch, as well as a small red object that turned out to be a folding knife. Coulson switched on the torch, and used the knife to make a mark on a tree.

"Make sure we can find our way out again," he explained, at Loki's inquiring look.

Despite Coulson's obvious annoyance, Loki rather enjoyed the walk through the dark forest. It was certainly a pleasanter night than the one George had been out in, stars above them and leaves rustling. Coulson paused occasionally to carve a trail mark on a tree, which seemed a shame, but it did not appear to be a good idea to object.

As they approached the site where the battle had taken place, however, the stroll became rather less pleasant. It was apparent that none of the others noticed, but Loki became aware of something. If he had not been alert for the signs, he might have thought at first that he smelled rotting vegetation. As it was, he paused and looked around at the others.

"Does anyone else notice-- ?" he began. The others stopped and looked at him. "No?"

"Just woods," Stark said.

"Rabbits," George said shamefacedly.

"What is it, Loki?" Thor asked.

"I am beginning to sense magic," Loki told his brother.

"We are still some considerable distance from the site of our battle," Thor said cautiously.

"I smell magic," Loki insisted, using the most analogous sense at his disposal.

"I realize that I am not as sensitive to the presence of magic as you are, Loki, but the signs should not be so widespread this long after the encounter," Thor pointed out.

"Unless the sorcerer came back, or there is another source," Loki pointed out. It was evident from the expression on Thor's face that he had already had the same thought, and he was not happy about the implications. There was, however, nothing to do except continue forward, Thor watching Loki carefully.

The "smell" became stronger and more unpleasant as they approached the site of the battle, turning into what could best be described as the sensation of bronze on his tongue as well as the rotting scent in his nostrils. This did not feel like friendly or even neutral magic, and Loki was torn between anxiety at having brought a group of friends into this, and relief that he was not confronting it alone.

"This was the last place we saw Steve," Tony Stark announced, and they followed the torch's beam into a stand of aged oak trees. "What?"

The question was addressed to Loki, who did not hear it because he had suddenly found his hands pressed to his ears. He saw Thor turn toward him in apparent concern, lips moving, but he could hear nothing beyond a swelling, chattering buzz as the smell changed to damp earth and the taste in his mouth to granite. Surely the others could sense it as well. Surely magic this powerful was obvious to everyone.

It took a moment to sort out the sensations and realize this was entirely different magic, and the buzzing sensation represented… anger. Something was very angry at them. As the thought formed, the buzz became unbearably loud, like a great swarm of insects in his head, as if something realized he could understand the message, and was shouting at him.

Loki felt himself wobble, and reached out blindly for support. His fingertips brushed against the bark of a tree, but before he could lean on it he felt his arm jerk involuntarily as a sort of charge jumped to his body.

 _It was coming from the tree._ This was not surplus magic, left behind by whoever attacked Steve. It was completely separate, and they had blundered into its source. The magic was in-- no, the magic _was_ the trees, and possibly even the land they grew in.

Loki's eyes cleared just in time to see Coulson about to make one of his trailblazing marks on a nearby oak.

"Don't!" he shouted, voice hoarse, throwing his right hand upward in a gesture to emphasize his word. He formed no spell, had no intention of directing anything toward the SHIELD agent, had no conscious thought beyond "stop," but a charge of uncontrolled power surged through him, there was a flash of soft green, and Coulson was flying across the clearing to land in a heap in the wet leaves at the base of one of the oaks.

"Coulson!" shouted Stark, and "Loki!" shouted Thor, and George started toward the stricken agent as Iron Man's mask came down over Stark's face and Thor turned on him, clearly intent on defending his brother.

"It wasn't me!" Loki yelled, not even trying to conceal the edge of hysteria in his voice as the magic raged through him. He started to raise his hands, thought better of it and directed his palms toward the ground. "I didn't do anything, there is something _here_."

"What do you mean you didn't do anything?" Stark demanded, but demanding was all right, asking questions meant he would probably wait for an answer. "What the hell do you call that? Coulson!"

"Fine," Agent Coulson mumbled, "I'm fine," and he sat up with George's assistance.

"I didn't, honestly, I didn't do that on purpose," Loki insisted, voice shaky with relief, but he felt a sense of loss as the magic ebbed out of him and back into the ground. "We need to leave. I'll try to explain as soon as we get back to the road, but we have to get out of here now. Do not harm any of the trees as we go."

"One way to manage that," Stark said, wrapped one arm around Coulson, and took off into the night.

Thor glanced at George. "Can you hang on?" he asked, and a moment later he was carrying George and Loki back toward the helicarrier, Loki's head still ringing so he could hardly tell which direction was up.

They landed on the carrier deck and Loki found his feet firm beneath him as Thor set him down. Since he had come to Midgard, he had become accustomed to the after-effects of casting magic, the light-headed giddiness that took time to abate. He had no such feeling now: away from the snarling angry buzz, his head cleared. He felt _wonderful_.

Coulson, fortunately, had his wind back. The fact he was uninjured was the only thing that calmed Stark enough not to turn on Loki as he had done in the schoolyard. Mask open so at least his face looked human, he raged,

"What the hell was that? You could have killed him!"

"I know," Loki said quietly. "I'm terribly sorry, but it wasn't me. I had no control over what happened back there."

"What _did_ happen back there?" Coulson asked, perfectly calmly, as he brushed loam and bits of dead leaves from his trousers.

Loki took a deep breath. "What you need to remember is, there is more than one kind of magic. There is the magic from within, generated by the sorcerer himself, and there is… what one might call ambient magic, carried by the land or realm. Asgard, for instance, has a great deal of the second type of magic, which can be harnessed through a tool such as Odin's great spear, or directly through a sorcerer. Midgard seems to have forgotten magic, and so up to this point I have only been able to cast that which I generate myself. This limits what I can do: like blood, magic spent has to regenerate itself."

"Which explains why it's so tiring for you," George spoke up. "It's like… donating blood."

Loki made a mental note to ask George later why in the Nine Realms anyone would wish for the blood of another, apart from sorcery, and nodded. "Yes, exactly. What happened in the forest is, we stumbled upon a source of magic being generated by the, by the realm. I have not encountered this before on Midgard and I was unprepared. Also, the magic was powerful and very angry. It used me as a conductor, and set upon Coulson when he threatened the tree."

"Hang on," said Stark. "Are you trying to make us believe we were attacked _by England?"_

"In essence, yes," Loki replied.

Stark's eyes widened in exasperation. He threw his head back and shouted, "We're your _ally!"_

"You are the ally of the people," Loki felt the need to point out. "The land may have different ideas. Perhaps this other sorcerer was able to awaken the magic of the land, at least in that one place. Perhaps this is what he used to attack you earlier. Or perhaps it is simply a consequence of his use of magic in that place. I cannot, for the moment, say."

"Why couldn't the rest of us feel it?" George asked.

"I find it very hard to believe you could not," Loki admitted. "I felt like a swarm of bees had taken up residence in my head, and a great electrical charge was passing through me. I had almost no control over the power, but it was…"

He stopped before he uttered what might sound like a damaging admission, but the fact remained: it was _exhilarating._ Just to be able to feel power like that again. It was like being let out of a tiny, sealed box and breathing cool, free air.

And he knew better than to admit that to the others, even to Thor.

"It was very startling," he finished lamely. "And for that reason, when I realized what it was and tried to stop Coulson from angering it still further, I accidentally let loose what amounted to a charge of it. I am terribly sorry."

"No harm done," Coulson shrugged. "If you hadn't been there, do you think the magic would have been able to do anything to us? Or did it need you to use as a weapon?"

"I don't know," Loki admitted. "It felt intensely powerful to me."

"Well, in that case, I'm pretty glad you stopped me from scoring that tree." Coulson frowned. "Although I definitely want to get my pocketknife back."

"I think we definitely need to go back," Loki agreed. He hoped his voice sounded apprehensive to the others. It would not do to let them know how… excited… he was.

"In the morning," Thor said quietly, and his expression as he looked at his brother made Loki's heart sink a little.

"In the morning," Loki agreed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A conversation in this chapter refers back to the first story in this crossover universe. You don't need to have read that one to follow what's happening.

Loki jerked awake, heart pounding, and lay very still as if he suspected danger lurked nearby. It took a moment to orient himself to the strange location: instead of his uncomfortably cozy bed in the little box room at home, he was lying on a metal-framed bunk in a barracks-like room. A moment later he remembered the helicarrier and the events of the last two days.

A moment after that, Annie's voice whispered, "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Fine. I had… I had a bad dream," Loki whispered back. He sat up and took stock: George, Steve, and even Mitchell were asleep in the other bunks, and Annie was sitting on the end of his, one hand resting on his ankle in a gesture of reassurance. Loki smiled unsteadily at her, half-hoping she could not see his expression in the dark. A moment later he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and let himself down to the floor. "I think I need to go for a walk," he explained.

The door was locked. In the aftermath of the dream, Loki experienced a swift jolt of panic, and instead of looking calmly for the locking mechanism he placed a hand on the door and sent a charge of magic through it. The door slid open and he slipped through, then pushed it carefully closed and listened for the lock to engage. There was probably no real danger in leaving the others asleep in an unlocked room, but at the moment he was unable to feel so.

Loki and Annie were now standing in a deserted, dimly-lit corridor, and she was looking more concerned by the moment. Loki managed another smile, no more successful than the first.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Annie asked practically.

"It is very silly," Loki murmured.

"I don't sleep much, myself," Annie remarked. "And that's one of the reasons why: I'm afraid of what dead people dream about." Loki put his arms around her, a gesture he hoped comforted her as much as it did him.

"I very rarely dream, or at least have any I recall," he remarked. He thought he had dreamed during his madness, as though his mind refused to give him any respite at all. He no longer remembered anything about them, which was something to be grateful for. "I suppose this one was a result of exposure to all that angry magic, and also those bizarre stories Tony Stark related, the Midgardian beliefs about me." And possibly to his conflicted feelings about the effect the magic had on him.

"You didn't dream you'd given birth to a horse, did you?" Annie teased gently.

Loki uttered a short laugh. "That might not have been so bad. I like foals. They always look so… surprised." He rested his chin on the top of Annie's head and went on, "No, there is apparently a story about dwarves sewing my lips shut. They do that, you know, as a punishment for lying. I used to be teased about it sometimes, people would say they were going to send me to the dwarves."

"Well, that's just awful," Annie said quietly. "And not one bit funny. It never actually happened to you, though, right?"

Loki shook his head, which rather jostled Annie's, though she did not appear to mind. "I have always been very careful never to be caught in a lie by a dwarf--What?"

Annie muffled another giggle against Loki's chest. "Most people would be careful _not to lie_ to a dwarf."

Loki almost laughed, himself. "Well, it is a good thing to understand oneself." The cold feeling came back immediately. "No, it has never happened to me, nor have I ever actually seen anyone punished that way, but--" He shivered.

"Ew," Annie said, hugging him. "And you dreamed they had done it to you?"

"Not dwarves. Agent Coulson," Loki replied. A sense of claustrophobic panic crawled into his chest at the memory. He shivered again and told her the worst part. "In the dream, Thor was holding my head still for Coulson." Annie tightened her arms around him. "I know, it would never happen. It just… it felt very real, in the dream. My mouth still feels unpleasant." He ran his tongue quickly over his lips once again, just to make sure there were not really any stitches there.

"That's the worst thing about dreams," Annie said sympathetically. "The bad ones hang on. I had a dream once where all my teeth were falling out, I'm sure there's some psychological explanation, but I could feel the sensation for a couple of hours after I woke up. Yuck."

"Yuck," Loki agreed. "I certainly do not feel like going back to sleep now. I wonder… I think I can find my way back to the observation deck. It would do no harm to go there."

"Do you suppose we're allowed?"

"We are guests," Loki pointed out, and then gestured at his clothing, plaid cotton trousers and a t-shirt with a picture of a whimsical black-and-white dog hugging a fluffy yellow creature that might have been a bird. "I am clearly not dressed for combat, so surely any guards will realize I mean no harm. If we are not allowed, we--I--will simply be told to go back to bed. Come."

They encountered a guard almost immediately, who fortunately recognized Loki at once and directed him to the observation deck by way of a corridor that did not pass through any areas requiring the highest security clearances.

When they reached the door, it was already ajar. As Loki approached it, he heard the voices of Thor and Tony Stark, speaking quietly. In the aftermath of the dream, Loki found himself suddenly reluctant to encounter his brother. He was preparing to withdraw when he heard Stark say,

"How sure are you that Loki can actually help Steve?"

Listening to the conversations of others, at least of those who are almost certainly not plotting to kill you, is, of course, wrong. Loki had been taught that rule as a child.

He had been ignoring it since he was a child, partly because one of his faults was insatiable curiosity and partly because knowledge, while not always power, was frequently security. Particularly knowledge of what others were saying and thinking about you. He glanced apologetically at Annie, and found her far too focused on the conversation beyond the door to pay any attention to him.

"I am certain," Thor was saying now. "It may take a little time, but he will resolve the problem."

"Because that reaction he had in the forest was a little worrying," Stark went on. "The evil magic--it's not going to stick to him, is it?"

There was a pause. "What do you mean, 'stick to him'?" Thor asked slowly.

"It's not going to send him over the edge or anything? Make him evil too?"

"Of course not," Thor replied, his tone sharply defensive.

"Hey, I'm sorry, but I kind of had to ask. It's not like it would be unprecedented, you know?"

Loki's hands were so cold that he hardly noticed the chill as Annie gripped one of them. After a long pause, Thor said quietly,

"It was… more complicated than you perhaps think."

"Oh, yeah?" Stark replied, more an invitation to provide more details than a challenge.

"'Yeah'," Thor replied. "Stark, I am nearly a thousand Midgardian years old. My brother is about nine hundred. And you are judging his character, and also our relationship, based on actions that occurred in the course of perhaps four Midgardian days. Does that seem fair to you?"

"When you put it that way, not really," Stark agreed. There was a sound that suggested Stark was drinking something. "Care to clear things up for me?"

Thor sighed. "What afflicted Loki was a temporary madness, caused by... a number of things. To begin with... we were very close as children, Stark. But perhaps you do not know what it is to be the younger son of a king."

"Nope. Only child," Stark replied.

"Yes, well, I was the first-born son, so I do not know what it is like, either. I was always the centre of attention, both because of my position as heir and because, frankly, I rather demand to be. Loki was quiet and self-sufficient and everyone assumed he did not mind being overshadowed in everything."

"Uh-oh," Stark murmured.

"Exactly. And as we grew older, I began to collect friends-- who are still my friends, and very dear to me-- and it seemed a nuisance to have a younger brother tagging along. I am afraid we were not very kind to him."

"When you say, 'not very kind,' is that by Asgardian standards?" Stark asked.

"Yes."

"So by... Midgardian standards, does that mean someone should have called the police?"

"Probably. I did love him, Stark. So did our father and mother. Deep down, we loved him dearly, we do still, it was just that..."

"Based on the way he interacts with the werewolf, the vampire, and the invisible girl, it seems like maybe he'd appreciate some of the love to be a little closer to the surface, where he could actually see it," Stark mused.

"Exactly," Thor sighed. "Matters came to a head when Father, who felt the Odinsleep overtaking him, decided it was my time to become king. Loki felt, and I now agree with him, that I was unready and my reign would be disastrous for the realm. And of course, after nine hundred years in my shadow I think he simply could not bear the idea of me lording it as king. In his defense, I agree I would have been insufferable, and just as disastrous as he feared.

"So Loki engineered a test for me, which I failed, which led to my banishment here on Midgard. He did not mean for things to go as far as they did-- he says this, and I believe him. At the same time, he made the discovery that he is not the, the blood child of our father and mother, is not even Aesir by birth. He was actually the abandoned son of our realm's greatest enemy, rescued by our father in the aftermath of battle, and was born a creature we call a Frost Giant and consider to be monstrous."

"Wow," Stark said. "So he pretty much woke up one day and found out he was a werewolf. No offense to George."

"That is exactly how George phrased it, when he tried to explain to me how shocking this revelation must have been to my brother. He had no one to turn to for reassurance-- our parents were the ones who had told him the lies, my friends had resented him from childhood, and even if I had not been banished it is very doubtful he would have trusted me to take his part. He had spent nine hundred years believing himself to be... a security for the dynasty--"

"The heir and the spare," Stark murmured. "I would actually think, if you'd been abandoned as a baby, you might need quite a lot in the way of reassurance anyway, just in the course of everyday life."

"Based on our experience with Loki, I would think you are right. As it was, since he did not believe himself to possess the affection of anyone, he assumed the worst of our father's intentions for and feelings about him. Father succumbed to the Odinsleep before he could make anything clear, Loki ended up on the throne, my friends began to scheme for my return, and between grief and shock and anger and betrayal on all sides--"

"He went bonkers," Stark completed the sentence.

"In short, yes," Thor said. "And, in his madness, he did things, terrible things, that probably seemed rational and indeed necessary, but ended in disaster. He was formally banished from Asgard, but had already left us by letting himself fall from the realm. I am sure he expected to die. In the meantime I, who had murdered hundreds of these Frost Giants and so provoked war, was welcomed home from my banishment, the favoured son once again. I did learn a great deal from my exile, brief as it was, but one of the things I learned was to notice how unfair that is."

"Did... did Loki ever get things straight with your dad?" Stark asked hesitantly.

"Yes. Circumstances recently conspired to return him to Asgard, where Father finally explained to him that he is as loved a son as I am, and apologized for not expressing it in ways Loki could comprehend." Thor hesitated. "I think Loki believed him. I visited him on Midgard, and we spoke as well. I hope he knows... I hope he believes in his heart that I do love him."

"Well, if it's any comfort, when we had him locked up he kept asking for you. He seemed totally confident you were going to show up and help him."

"That is indeed a comfort," Thor said, although he did not sound entirely reassured. "At any rate, Stark, you may rest assured my brother is not mad, evil, or plotting to take control of this realm."

"He doesn't mind living in that scruffy little house instead of the palace at Asgard?" Stark asked skeptically.

"With friends who show him open affection? After nine hundred years of yearning for exactly that, I suspect it would take more than a few months for him to tire of it or begin to take it for granted. No. What happened in the forest was unfortunate, but not deliberate on his part." Stark said nothing. It was unclear whether he noticed Thor seemed to be trying to reassure himself as much as his companion.

There was a sound of chairs moving, and Annie tugged at Loki's hand, snapping him out of his trance. The two fled silently down the corridor in the direction from which they had come, rounded a corner, and Loki pulled Annie to a halt.

"He doesn't trust me," Loki said, without preamble.

"Stark? I don't think he trusts anyone," Annie said.

"No. Thor. You heard heard his voice when he protested my innocence to Stark-- he is afraid I am not as blameless in that forest incident as he wishes to believe."

"But that isn't true," Annie said firmly, looking squarely into Loki's eyes. He looked squarely back, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I truly did not attack Coulson, and I have no designs on control of the realm or anything similar. I was king for two days in Asgard and that was sufficient. But... I would be lying if I said the sensation of all that magic passing through me again was not welcome. It was..." He flexed his hands and let his words trail off helplessly.

Annie did not address the issue of Loki's willingness to tell lies, since she knew he did not lie to her, or George and Mitchell, at least not without a very good reason. "Well, you are a sorcerer," she pointed out. "And it must feel very weird to you not to have background magic all around you. It must be like visiting a place with different gravity would be to me." She smiled at him reassuringly. "It doesn't mean you're going to go bad, like..."

"You-Know-Who," said Loki, who had been exposed to the stories of Harry Potter by his housemates. He tried to smile.

Annie laughed. "Exactly. You're not Voldemort. For one thing, you have a whole nose. And for another, you're really _not_ evil. Really." She took hold of his arms above the elbow and looked into his face. "Not evil."

"Not evil," Loki agreed, the knot of anxiety in his chest beginning to loosen. He was not evil, and not about to become evil. If Annie believed it, it must be so.

Annie suddenly reached up and kissed him swiftly, her lips stinging-cold but comforting on his. "Go back to bed, and don't dream anything nasty," she ordered, and vanished.

Loki, alone in the corridor, reached up and gently brushed his fingertips against his mouth.

Then he did as Annie bade him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I play fast and loose with mythology, geography, and possibly natural history. I regret nothing.

The next morning's field trip was composed of the group from the night before, plus Annie and Mitchell. Loki was more grateful than usual for their company.

To the obvious discomfort of Tony Stark, and the slightly better-concealed anxiety of Thor, Loki asked to go back into the forest at exactly the same place they had the night before. He actually had a purpose in this: he wanted to see whether local magic had healed the trees injured by Coulson.

Coulson, who seemed entirely unconcerned, waved the group to join him on one side of the clearing. "Here's the first one I marked last night."

"And the mark is still visible?" Loki asked, surprised.

"It's still fresh," Coulson replied, hands clasped behind his back as he studied the tree. Loki walked over to join him. "See?"

Loki saw, and what he saw interested him greatly. He had been confident the tree would be healed this morning, but not only was it not, the wood exposed by Coulson's knife was still perfectly fresh and damp with sap. This far from the centre of the angry land-magic, perhaps the tree could not be healed. The wound still should at least have been drying, and the exposed wood discoloured, by this time. Loki said so.

"I was thinking the same thing," Coulson agreed, as he stepped aside for the others to have a look. "You don't suppose it can't heal itself at all?"

"I don't understand it," Loki admitted.

"Perhaps it's the iron," George spoke up suddenly. Everyone looked at him and he coloured. "Well, it might be," he said defensively, pushing his spectacles up his nose.

"Tell us about iron," Loki requested.

"There are stories... Iron is supposed to harm some kinds of magical creatures, like fairies," George began. At a big-eyed look from Stark, George added, "I've never actually met a fairy, I'm not sure they even exist. Or maybe they've just... gone somewhere else. The point is, fairies were supposed to represent old magic in Britain, from before the days of iron and steel, and they never adapted to be able to deal with it. I'm just now wondering whether this magic Loki talks about, the magic in the land, is the same kind of thing. Maybe it's been driven underground by human technology and devices."

"That might explain why it's so angry," Mitchell contributed.

"Perhaps," Loki said slowly, his mind whirling. It occurred to him that he had, perhaps, been given an opportunity for a peace offering. He reached up and laid his right hand flat over the wound, felt magic and an apology he hoped could be understood flow from himself to the tree. After a moment he took his hand away. The mark was gone.

"Wow," Stark said quietly.

Rather unexpectedly, Coulson looked around at the trees and said matter-of-factly, "I'm sorry I hurt you last night. I didn't understand what I was doing, and I apologize." There was, perhaps, more to Coulson than he generally chose to reveal.

They continued through the forest, following Coulson's marks on the trees and Loki healing them as they went. At a certain point Loki began to smell rotting vegetation again, but the sensation was much weaker than the night before.

"So perhaps, as you guessed, the sorcerer who cursed Steve returned last night," Thor suggested. "We have been preoccupied with our concern for Steve, so we were not looking for further activity on his part."

In Loki's opinion this was neglectful in the extreme, but he did not say so to his brother. He merely remarked, "It would be good to know his purpose in returning."

"Oh, we'll get into that," Stark said grimly.

Thor, who was watching Loki with what seemed like more than merely brotherly concern, was the first to notice when Loki began to sense the other magic. His head twitched as the buzzing began, not at the level of the night before, but loud enough to be annoying.

"Loki-- " Thor began, his tone apprehensive. He stopped when Coulson, with a smile noticeably more friendly than his usual meaningless one, said,

"Hello, Annie."

"Hello, Mr. Coulson," Annie replied demurely.

"Hey, Annie," Stark nodded. "That the background magic again, Loki?" His tone was perfectly matter-of-fact, as though he had never once suspected exposure to powerful magic would cause Loki to reveal himself as a villain after all.

Loki nodded. "It is."

"Still pissed off at us?" Stark asked.

"Yes. But not as angry as it was last night. Can everyone please be silent? I will see if I can communicate with it."

The rest of the group was quiet as Loki stood still, eyes closed, concentrated on his breath going in and out of his lungs, let his mind go quiet, and waited for the magic to speak to him.

After a few moments, images began to come into his mind. A figure in a green cloak, unspecific, more like a drawing than anything, as though the non-human sentience in contact with him was unable to accurately envision a human.

Or whatever this sorcerer was.

The image in his head changed jerkily, the figure moving back and forth, eyes cast down and then up. It took Loki a moment to understand what he was being told:

The mysterious sorcerer was looking for something.

Cautiously, he created a mental image of his own, also of a green-caped figure searching the clearing. It was immediately crowded out by one of the sketch-like figure performing the same movements. Loki took that as confirmation he had correctly interpreted the message he had received.

And then the images in Loki's mind scrambled and changed, the image of the green-caped figure joined by others, all of whom seemed to be fighting. The other figures fell and the green-caped one stood over them, apparently victorious. The buzzing in Loki's head became almost unbearable.

The final image in this set showed a crude red-white-and-blue figure collapsing to the ground. Loki, hoping he had correctly interpreted the feeling of anger, visualized Steve, in his Captain America costume, surrounded by everyone in the current group, all of whom were bending solicitously over him.

The buzzing dropped to bearable levels. Loki exhaled in relief. He tried one more image: Thor holding the green-caped figure by the scruff of the neck. As he visualized it, the buzzing changed into a sort of vibrating hum. Loki took that to mean the sentience was in favour of the Avengers catching and stopping the mysterious sorcerer.

It would be worth trying to figure out, later, why England would care.

The hum faded, as though whatever had been communicating with him was finished "speaking." He opened his eyes and looked around.

"I am no closer now to knowing what the mysterious sorcerer looked like," he said without preamble, "but it seems he is looking for something. And the local magic is very angry about it."

"So it's not mad at us?" Stark asked.

"It would appear not. Our communication was very crude, but when I expressed that we were trying to capture this person, the sensation of antagonism went away. I received an impression this sorcerer was already known to the… intelligence behind the magic, that he has done harm before, to other humans, perhaps a long time ago. What I don't know is why this would matter."

"'Why it would matter'?" Stark repeated slowly. With a sinking sensation, Loki remembered he was a focus of suspicion, and he needed to watch every word that came from his mouth.

"I meant, to the magic," he explained patiently. "If I am correct and I was in communication with the land itself, why would it care, or even notice, what a few brief mortals do to one another?"

"You, on the other hand-- " Stark prompted.

Loki was quite aware this was a poor time for him to lose his temper. With difficulty, he bit back a number of sharp rejoinders and said stiffly, "I, on the other hand, am doing my best to determine what happened to your friend Steve, and assist him." And then, because he couldn’t help it, he added, "I might point out that I have lived on this realm for several months without harming anyone apart from ill-disposed supernatural creatures. If, however, you think your mission would progress more safely and effectively without my help, I would be delighted to leave you and return to my home and my job. Except, oh yes, you seem to have destroyed my abode, and convinced my employer that I am some sort of supervillain, so both those routes are now closed to me. Shall we continue to discuss which of us can be trusted, or should we do something more productive?"

Oh, look. He had lost his temper after all. Well, as long as he was at it, he might as well storm off, too. Loki shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to Mitchell.

"Would you be so kind as to return my belongings to the helicarrier? I will meet you back there after I have taken a look around, to see whether I can detect any other signs of our mysterious sorcerer." Mitchell nodded without a word-- possibly he realized Loki was so angry that further speech might well cause him to do something humiliating, like burst into tears. Loki jerked his shirt off over his head and handed that to Mitchell as well-- he had no desire to end up trapped in the garment and have to crawl ignominiously out the neck hole.

Then, before anyone else could speak, he transformed himself into a raven and flew away.

He stayed down among the trees at first, in case Stark decided to give chase: he was quite sure Iron Man was not maneuverable enough at low speeds to cope with the forest cover. He permitted himself a vindictive mental image of Stark flying head-first through the trunk of one of the great oak trees. The thought of Stark's red-and-golden feet kicking helplessly made him croak with laughter.

And then, because as a raven he was still intelligent enough to know when he was behaving badly, Loki began to feel ashamed of himself. If Tony Stark, or anyone else, did not trust him without reservation, exactly whose fault was that?

Well, the only thing to do was conduct his aerial search and hope he found something useful, so he could at least pretend he had not really just flown off in a fit of temper. Loki flapped his way up to a higher altitude and then soared on outstretched wings, circling to orient himself. Far away to the north he could see Bristol, and resisted the urge to fly in that direction to see, with his own eyes, what had been done to his home. There was no purpose in doing so, it would only make him angry again, but in the aftermath of his outburst he found himself feeling quite lonely, and he wanted to see the house again.

No. There was no time, and it would serve no purpose.

The vast helicarrier hung in the sky between Bristol and himself, but still several miles away. It would be easy to find again when he needed to return. Loki turned to the south, aiming to fly in a large circle that would bring him back within range of the helicarrier. Because he was using self-generated magic for this transformation, Loki knew he could only maintain the raven shape for so long, and would have to budget enough power to get safely back.

As the helicarrier fell further astern, Loki concentrated mostly on the trees and brush below him. He was not sure what he was looking for, but was sensitive to magic and hoped he would recognize something useful if it was there to see.

After some little time, however, Loki noticed something in the distance, to the southwest: a large, smoothly-rounded mound, with a projection on top that seemed to be the remains of a tall building. He was initially drawn by simple curiosity but, as he flew closer, he became gradually aware of the taste of bronze on the back of his tongue.

There were domiciles, signs of agriculture, and trees and bushes growing right up to the base of the mound, but the hill itself was grassy and bare. The only place Loki could find to land was the ruin, which seemed to be the remains of a place of worship, roofless and open to the sky. He flew to the top of the high wall, landed, and folded his wings.

The sensation of bronze in his mouth was now accompanied by the same phantom smell of rotting vegetation, both even more powerful than they had been the night before. This was unpleasant even in raven form, but as he preened his feathers and tried to appear an innocent corvid, Loki realized the headache that accompanied his more extended efforts at casting magic was no longer in evidence. Apparently, he had successfully scavenged sorcery. Both the raven form and Loki within it croaked in amusement at the idea.

By this time, Loki had forgotten all about his anger at Stark: he was affected to some degree by the form he occupied, and the raven lived in the moment. Loki knew he should go back and tell the others what he'd discovered, but-- he argued to himself-- as yet he had really not found anything at all. Evidence, yes, that the sorcerer had been here, probably not long ago. But nothing more.

Both Loki and the raven wanted more.

The ruin was, to all intents, a roofless rectangular tower. Loki peered over the wall he perched on, into the well-like interior. The shape of the walls created an updraft as air entered through the open doorways below. Loki spread his wings, testing the strength of the rising air.

Then he closed them and stepped over the side, dropping into the well formed by the stone walls.

The drop was exhilarating, matched only by the sensation of the updraft catching him as he spread his wings. His stomach kept going as his wings arrested his fall, and he let out a croaking exclamation of delight as he found himself hanging in the air. No matter how many times Loki transformed into a bird, he never got tired of the sensation of winged flight. He flicked a wingtip upward and let himself spiral down, then leveled out and hung in the air as the updraft lifted him. As his head cleared the top of the tower, he repeated the movement with the other wing and spiraled down in the opposite direction.

And then he remembered that Steve was depending on him to learn about this sorcerer, and resisted the impulse to play any longer.

He landed on the broken stone floor of the ruin, fluttered his wings closed, shuffled his feet, and looked around with bright eyes. Sunlight streamed through the open arches of the windows and doorways, motes of dust danced through the air.

And, in one dark corner, the wall was glowing.

Loki tilted his head on one side and then the other, trying to get a better look at the corner. The position of a raven's eyes was useful for spotting danger from almost any direction, but made focusing on one object difficult. Even so, Loki knew that anyone but a sorcerer would be unable to see the glow at all.

He walked closer, head turned, the other eye closed to help him concentrate. There was definitely something there.

Or, more accurately, _not_ there. It wasn't easy to create a hiding place that was in plain sight, but it was even more difficult to create a hiding place that wasn't there at all. Loki admitted himself impressed: he was quite sure he could not do such a thing himself, at least not on this realm. Once again, he reconsidered his opinion of the mysterious sorcerer: his spell upon Steve had not had the effect he apparently anticipated, but this one seemed to be working very well.

However, having spotted the magical portal, Loki knew the sorcerer would return. It was late morning, or perhaps early afternoon. The sorcerer had attacked Steve at night. He had been active in the forest last night. Therefore, it made sense he would hide during the day.

The first question was, did he have another lair, or was he behind the glowing portal?

The next was, should Loki hurry back to the helicarrier and tell Thor and his comrades what he had learned, or should he stay, and see what else he could find out?

The sensible thing to do was to go for help.

Ravens are not terribly sensible birds.

~oOoOo~

It was not at all difficult to get through the portal, not when you were yourself a fairly skilled sorcerer in the body of a very clever bird. It helped that Loki had been using magic stolen from the site to maintain his bird form: he was attuned to the sorcery maintaining the hiding place.

It was nearly as easy as stepping onto the platform for the Hogwarts Express.

The lair gave the impression of a further room in the ruin--or perhaps in some imaginary castle-- windowless and lit by glowing sconces in the walls, and by a fire that gave light but no heat in the fireplace that dominated the back wall. The furnishings were of heavy wood: a table in the middle of the room, covered in books and papers; another bearing various artifacts and the remains of a meal; an oaken chair; a bookcase laden with heavy volumes. Loki received the impression of a room remembered, not imagined.

One would have to be extremely sensitive to magic to be able to tell it was all an illusion, but of course one would also have to be extremely sensitive to magic to be able to find one's way inside in the first place.

The mysterious sorcerer was not in the lair, and dust had settled over his belongings. Perhaps he had been absent longer than Loki thought, in which case he must be able to create or control a great deal of magic to be able to maintain all this. Loki flapped his wings and hopped onto the table to examine the books and papers. He walked up and down, scuffling the papers about with his feet. They were real, apparently brought here for further study, written in an elaborate script Loki could not read, at least not as a raven: the position of his eyes, for one thing, was still an issue, and it was very hard to concentrate. He briefly considered resuming his Aesir form, then rejected the idea: if he was surprised by the sorcerer, there was some chance he could bluff his way out of the situation if he pretended to be a cheeky raven. Perhaps the sorcerer would even accept him as a familiar. In an apparently-human form, he would have a great deal of explaining to do.

Particularly considering his clothes were, by now, presumably back in the helicarrier.

Bird form it was, then.

He used his heavy beak to turn over the documents and scuffle gently at the books. All of them were very old, made of rag-paper rather than the more fragile wood-pulp variety, the books bound with heavy leather. Even under bird-feet the paper felt rich and smooth, and it had held the ink extremely well. Loki marveled at the creations of these primitive mortals who died so long ago.

George had some knowledge of these matters, he remembered. George might be able to read one of these pages, if Loki took it back to him.

Folding a sheet of heavy rag paper was no joke when all you had to work with were a beak and clawed feet, but Loki managed it. Borrowing a little extra magic, he secreted the paper in a sort of inter-dimensional hiding place he would be able to access later. Possibly because it had already been in an inter-dimensional hiding place, the paper went willingly. On impulse, Loki grabbed a book of manageable size and stuffed it in after.

Then he flew to the other table to examine the artifacts: a battered iron helmet, what looked like a shirt made of chain, heavy iron gloves. Loki walked around and around them, consumed by curiosity. This was clearly protective gear. Was the sorcerer preparing for battle? The armor was very old. Had he worn it before, many years ago, when the iron was bright and newly forged? Or had it been stolen from its rightful owner?

Loki next turned his attention to the metal plate that held the remains of food: half a piece of bread and some hard yellow cheese. He poked them experimentally with his beak, and decided they had always been coarse, but had been abandoned long enough to dry out entirely.

Even so, they would be a suitable meal for a raven and, since being a bird was exceedingly hungry work, Loki was tempted. However, he was experienced enough to know better than to eat anything in a place such as this: that was how the unwary found themselves ensnared forever. He controlled the urges of the bird form, but he knew it was time to leave: eventually, the animal form would assert itself physically, even though his mind remained his own.

(Loki knew this from experience, having spent more than a week as a fox on Svartalfheim after one of Thor's very early expeditions went wrong. The group had split up to evade pursuit, and Loki arrived at the Bifrost site to discover, to his horror, that the others had left without him. The Svartalfar, apparently suspecting one of the Aesir had been left behind, had guarded the site so closely and hunted him so persistently that Loki was unable to take back his own form long enough to call Heimdall, or attract the attention of any of Thor's ill-organized rescue parties. By the end of his sixth day as a fox he was gladly eating carrion, which made him miserably ill after the Allfather had finally come in person to find him and he resumed his own form. He was too sick and too grateful to torment himself with the question of whether Father would have taken so long to come to Thor's rescue. Indeed, even years later, when he was firmly of the belief that his father did not love him at all, he had found some comfort in the memory of how angry Odin had been at Thor for leaving Loki behind, even by accident. The tongue-lashing had been mostly couched in terms of how a prince of Asgard should behave, but the Allfather's grip on Loki's hand as he shouted had hinted that, perhaps, it was not solely concern for honour that made Father so angry.)

Loki had not been in this form long enough for the raven to make demands upon him, but it was definitely time to get back to the others. He took a final look around, memorizing as much of the room as possible. Then he stepped back through the glowing portal, unfurled his wings, and flew off into the falling dark.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I make reference to a limitation on Heimdall's powers that is probably not canon.

It was late evening as Loki, tired and hungry and very excited, flew back to the helicarrier. The airship was considerably farther to the north and east than it had been that morning when Loki flew away, but its size still rendered it easy to find. He wondered briefly whether the sorcerer they sought realized this great vessel was looking for him, and also what he made of it.

He landed on the railing that hemmed in the flight deck and croaked hopefully. Apparently, his friends were keeping watch for him, because almost immediately George and Mitchell came rushing onto the deck.

"Loki? That is you, right?" Mitchell said, sounding both relieved and very anxious. Loki flew to his shoulder and made affectionate noises in his ear. "Thank _God_. George, can you go find Thor? Just-- give us a few minutes for Loki to get changed and dressed, okay?"

"Sure," George replied, and ran off. He had scarcely looked at Loki, who recalled, with a sinking feeling, that he had been in a nasty temper when he flew away earlier. It must have been worse than he remembered. Clearly, he owed everyone an apology.

He would have offered one, but by the time he was back in his own form and clothing there came a pounding on the door of the barracks room and Thor's voice outside.

"Loki? Are you in there?" He sounded much angrier than Loki thought the earlier outburst warranted. Loki began to wonder what he could possibly have done and, in bird form, forgotten about.

He started toward the door as Thor came crowding in, with Stark and Coulson behind him. At the expression on his brother's face, Loki took a step backward. Thor did not seem to notice.

"Where have you been?" he shouted. He had not been this angry when he burst into the cell to rescue Loki from the restraints. He had not been this angry when Loki attacked him on the Bifrost. He had not been this angry after Loki _killed him._ Loki could not recall _ever_ seeing Thor this angry, if you did not count berserker rage in wartime.

The only explanation he could think of was one that made Loki nearly as furious himself.

"Obviously, I was off scheming nefarious deeds with my evil cohorts," he snapped.

"Do not mock me, brother," Thor growled.

"Mock you? Why would I do that? Just because you thought I had changed sides and joined the --" Thor grabbed Loki by the shoulders and jerked him forward. Mitchell took a step, then hesitated when Thor did nothing further. "Ouch," Loki said sullenly, although the grip did not actually hurt.

Thor let go of Loki and held his hands up, as though he was afraid of what he might do if he touched his brother again.

"I _thought_ you had been captured. I _thought_ you had been attacked by a hawk. I _thought_ some idiot mortal had decided you were a bird of ill omen and _shot_ you. I _thought_ I was going to have to explain to Mother and Father that, immediately after you returned to us, I had taken you off on one of my stupid, stupid escapades and lost you, like Svartalfheim all over again only this time forever. _Where have you been?"_

Loki's flare of defensive anger ebbed away, leaving behind only confusion. He reached out and touched Thor's arm.

"Thor. Brother. I'm sorry you were so worried. I didn't mean to stay away all day. I truly did not realize it had gotten so late--"

"All _day?_ You've been gone for more than _three,"_ Thor roared, but he no longer sounded angry.

"I've what?" Loki asked blankly.

"You flew away on Wednesday morning," Mitchell said, easing past Thor to stand next to Loki. "It's now Saturday night. You can understand how worried we've all been."

"Even Heimdall couldn't see you," Thor said. "Which meant you were either cloaked by magic, or--"

"Or dead," Loki finished the sentence, when it became apparent Thor could not.

"Yes," Thor muttered.

Loki, horrified at the conclusion he had jumped to himself, touched Thor's arm again. "I'm sorry. For worrying you, and for… for what I said. I had no idea I'd been gone that long and I couldn't understand why you were so angry, so I thought…" The trouble with having an uneasy conscience was, it made you think everyone else thought as badly of you as you did yourself. "I thought that _you_ thought-- "

"Well, I didn't," Thor replied tiredly. "Not for a moment. But I do apologize for behaving as though I was about to attack you. I can see how you would not take that as an expression of concern for your safety." Loki shifted uneasily and mumbled something even he could not understand.

Mitchell looked at the two, then at the rest of the group, and said quietly,

"Okay. Might be a good idea for the two of you to have a talk about this, later. For now, maybe Loki can fill us in-- ?"

Loki nodded, then looked around. "Where is Annie?" he asked.

"She's with Steve. He had… a bit of a setback, when you went off with us and we didn't bring you back," Stark explained.

"I really did not mean to worry everyone," Loki repeated helplessly.

"Yeah, you've said that. These things happen," Coulson spoke up. "How about we go find Steve and Annie, and you tell us all what happened?"

~oOoOo~

Thor had another, smaller eruption when Loki explained about being inside the sorcerer's lair.

"I can't believe you would do something so rash," he spluttered.

"What would you have done in my place?" Loki fired back.

"Exactly what you did. But _you_ are supposed to be intelligent!"

"Well, I was a raven at the time. A very inquisitive bird," Loki defended himself, then smiled teasingly at his brother. After a moment, Thor reluctantly smiled back.

"Besides," Coulson said reasonably, "he's probably the only one who could actually get into the lair, so if he'd gotten reinforcements he still would have been in there thinking he'd only been a few minutes while we sat around in the ruin for three days. I don't think there's any way this could have turned out differently."

"That is true," Thor agreed unwillingly.

George, meanwhile, was looking very thoughtful.

"The hill. Can you describe it again?" he requested.

"It sounds like Glastonbury Tor," Mitchell commented.

"I know, but I'd like to be sure," George said.

Loki thought hard about the appearance of the mound, then raised his right hand and created a small illusion of it in the middle of the room.

"It's like _Star Wars_ ," Stark said cheerfully. "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Shut up, Stark," Fury suggested, as Annie giggled.

"That's Glastonbury Tor, all right," George said, gazing intensely at the illusion. "Now, can you show us the armor you found in the magical hideout?" Loki dispelled the original illusion, thought hard, and cast a second, this time life-sized.

"I may have forgotten some of the details, but this is what lingers in my mind," he explained. George walked closer, peering at the armor. Loki added helpfully, "It appears to be very old."

"It's old, all right," George agreed, wide-eyed.

"All right, George, clearly you've had a thought the rest of us haven't. Spit it out," Mitchell said impatiently.

George removed his spectacles and wiped them on the tail of his shirt. "It's going to sound really mad," he objected.

"Really? Madder than werewolves and vampires and invisible girls and fear spells and Thor's brother turning into a raven and interdimensional portals where you can spend days without knowing any time has passed? Madder than that?" Stark demanded.

"He's got a point," Annie admitted.

"He does, at that," Steve, sitting as far from Fury as he could manage, agreed.

"Okay, but you have to let me begin at the beginning, or none of this will make sense," George said.

"Yeah, because that's one thing we insist on," Tony Stark said, with a nod. "All our vampires and werewolves and magical ravens and interdimensional portals--they've got to make _sense_." He glanced at Fury and said, "Right, yep, shutting up."

George hardly noticed the interruption. "Okay, the thing you need to begin with is this: the farmland around that hill used to be marshland, or 'fens.' Back in the Middle Ages, the monks who lived in the abbey at Glastonbury town-- which was destroyed in the reign of Henry VIII-- the abbey, not the town-- began draining the marshes. Up until that point, the tor, or hill, was effectively an island.

"There are legends… and I can't believe I'm saying this, I'd actually thought this was discredited hundreds of years ago, it's mad--"

"George. Out with it," Mitchell commanded.

"TherearelegendsthatitwasoncecalledtheIsleofAvalon."

 _"What?"_ Mitchell, apparently the only person who understood him, demanded.

"Yes, what?" Stark asked. "I mean, could you please repeat that? In English?"

George looked defeated. "I told you it sounds mad. Glastonbury Tor is one of the places suggested by folklore as the possible location of the Isle of Avalon."

"As in, _King Arthur?"_ Annie demanded.

"Yes. The Once and Future King."

"You're right," Mitchell agreed. "That _does_ sound mad."

Loki glanced at Thor, decided the total confusion on his brother's face matched his own, and spoke up.

"I'm sorry, George, but the non-Midgardians in the group are at a considerable disadvantage right now."

"It's not just you," Stark assured him. "If nobody's clopping coconuts or shouting 'run away!' I'm totally lost."

Steve was shaking his head violently. "I wasn't-- I _can't_ have been attacked by King Arthur. That doesn't-- that's crazy." Stark looked at him, and Steve said sharply, "Yes, it _is_ crazier than werewolves and magic ravens. King Arthur was a _good guy._ He was pretty much _the_ good guy. Why would he attack me?"

"And Arthur wasn't a wizard," Coulson pointed out, and then stopped, looking startled and as nearly appalled as Coulson could ever look.

"Not Merlin either!" Steve insisted, catching sight of Coulson's expression.

"Certainly not the cute little Merlin in the show on BBC," Annie remarked, as if to herself. "He'd never curse anybody."

Loki walked over to the couch where Thor sat and gestured for his brother to move over. He dropped onto the seat beside Thor and the two waited for everyone else to talk themselves to a standstill.

Thor leaned over. "Have you any idea what they are talking about?" he asked in an undertone.

Loki shook his head. "None. Except for the television program of which Annie speaks. It is silly, but enjoyable. Although it is about a Prince Arthur, not a king. And, as Annie says, a young sorcerer named Merlin who would certainly never place a curse on anyone." Thor folded his arms and leaned back, while Loki propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, chin in his hands, cutting his eyes back and forth to watch the argument unfold.

George raised his hands. "I'm not accusing King Arthur of anything. Or Merlin."

"Well, that's a relief," Stark said.

Loki glanced up at Thor and said quietly, "I really am terribly sorry for what I said to you a moment ago."

"It's all right," Thor replied, equally quietly. "The way I was raging, you must have thought I was about to accuse you of something dreadful. Or possibly _do_ something dreadful. I was just… I was very frightened. It makes me angry, to be frightened."

"But you have to admit," George was insisting, "it does all fit together."

"What all fits together, George?" Annie asked patiently.

"Yes," Mitchell repeated, apparently for the benefit of everyone who could not see or hear Annie, "what fits together?"

"Fear does something similar to me," Loki confessed.

"And then, as I said, I could not stop thinking of that time we left you on Svartalfheim," Thor went on, apparently under a compulsion to speak.

"Oh, that," Loki said uncomfortably. "I had not thought of that in years." He was quite sure Thor did not believe him.

"It was an accident, that we left without you," Thor pleaded quietly. "It was so dark, and when Fandral ran up to join us I thought you must be with him and I asked if that was everyone and-- "

"And the others said yes," Loki prompted. Thor nodded miserably.

"I seem to recall an enchanter named Tim," Stark offered. "Maybe Tim did it."

"Shut up, Stark," Coulson suggested, for a change of pace.

"Not Volstagg," Thor amended. "He and I took the word of the others. I think... they really believed you were right behind Fandral." Thor had never been a gifted liar.

Loki, without changing his awkward posture, shrugged. "It was no worse than some of the pranks I played on them over the years."

"I don't recall you doing anything that could have gotten them killed," Thor objected. Loki looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Well, not before Svartalheim." Loki smiled and bumped one knee against Thor's. His brother smiled back, briefly, then rested a hand on Loki's back, between his shoulderblades. "And then, of course, we made it worse by lying to Father."

Loki frowned. "What do you mean?"

Thor looked at him. "Have we really never spoken of this?"

"Thor, when have we ever really spoken of _anything?"_ Loki asked. "You lied to Father?"

"Yes. I was too afraid to explain what had happened, so we told Father and Mother that you wanted to see how long you could live on another realm as a fox-- Heimdall had told us what form you were in. I think Father and Mother assumed there was a wager involved. Meanwhile, we tried to rescue you ourselves-- what are you laughing at?"

"I'm sorry," Loki giggled. "It just sounds much funnier now than it was at the time. How did Father find out?"

"Heimdall finally asked him when he intended to go looking for you, and it all came out." Thor suddenly looked like his adolescent self, uncertain under his bluster. "I really thought Father would never forgive me. Mother was bad enough, but-- "

"I seem to remember a terrifying speech about the honourable behaviour of Asgardian princes," Loki remarked.

"Oh yes, by the time you were well enough to leave the healing room he had gotten on to the honour of Asgard, hadn't he? I had forgotten about that. I mostly remember endless variations on how one who is fortunate enough to have a loyal younger brother should be more careful not to do stupid things like take him off to a distant realm and _leave him there to die._ " Thor was actually pale as he thought about it. And then he looked aghast. "Are you telling me you didn't _know_ about this?" Loki nodded. "So you thought… you thought it took Father _a week_ to get around to rescuing you?"

"I think I assumed he was giving you a chance to do it yourself," Loki said awkwardly. "No, really, Thor, by the time he came and found me I was just grateful to see anyone. I admit I brooded over practically everything else that ever happened to me, and remembered most of it in the worst light possible, but for some reason that incident did not feature largely in my festering. I think it was because Father really did seem glad I was safe."

"He was beside himself," Thor said. "And he was furious. The only other time he was that angry at me was the day I was banished. I suppose it's just like Father, though, not to have told you how worried he was." Loki nodded. "Well, he was. I was, too. And very ashamed of myself. I should have begged your forgiveness, but I just wanted to pretend the whole sorry affair had never happened. It was years before I could even look at a fox without feeling sick to my stomach."

"Carrion had the same effect on me," Loki replied. Thor gave him a reproachful look. Loki bumped him with his knee and smiled. "Come on, brother. It is in the past." Thor smiled back, reluctantly, and then reached up to rumple Loki's hair.

"Mordred!" George shouted.

Loki and Thor sat up straight and, along with everyone else, stared at George.

"I don't remember Mordred," Stark announced.

"No, you wouldn't know him, he wasn't in _The Holy Grail_ ," Mitchell said.

"That explains it," Stark nodded. "George, who's Mordred? With a name like that, he pretty much has to be a villain."

"There are different traditions-- " George began, with scrupulous concern for accuracy, and was shouted down. Loki had always found George's streak of pedantry quite endearing, but now he was hungry and wanted a summary as much as everyone else.

George started over. "Okay, like everything in mythology and folklore, there are several versions of the stories."

Thor leaned over and whispered, "That probably means, in some versions of the stories about you, you give birth to mice and rhinoceroses as well as eight-legged foals." Loki clamped both hands over his mouth to stifle a giggle and kicked his brother gently in the ankle. Thor leaned forward, elbows on knees and chin in hands, in the same posture as Loki. When George cast an impatient look at the brothers, they favoured him with identical expressions of innocence.

"There are several versions," George repeated sternly. "But yes, especially in the later versions, Mordred is a villain, either the nephew or possibly son of King Arthur, who turned against him, attempted to usurp the throne when Arthur left him as regent, and eventually killed Arthur in single combat, suffering a mortal wound himself."

Loki sat up slightly, no longer laughing. George went on:

"In the original stories I don't think Mordred was a sorcerer, but again, traditions vary. Here's the thing, though: all this violent magical activity took place quite near what might be the Isle of Avalon. The sorcerer we're looking for woke up the magic of the, the realm. He's looking for something. What might he be looking for? What if he woke the magic with the intent of using it for his own purposes? How could he possibly control the magic of the land?"

Everyone was suddenly looking at Loki. Telling himself they were looking to him for his expertise in sorcery rather than treachery, he replied,

"On Asgard, the local magic can be controlled either through the sorcerer himself, which requires considerable skill, or by means of an implement such as Odin's great spear, Gungnir."

George smiled, like a teacher upon a bright pupil. "Thank you. Now, after the… unfortunate incident in the forest, where the magic used Loki to attack Mr. Coulson, Loki mentioned to us that magic in this, um, realm, seems to have been driven underground, many years ago. That means none of us really know how it works. But what if it operates the same way as on Asgard? What if, in order to control it, a warlock-- "

"That's a good word, warlock," Stark said approvingly.

"Thank you. Suppose a warlock needs some kind of magical device to direct the power through? What does that make you think of?"

"Coconuts!" Stark chirped. Loki was beginning to entertain serious doubts about the Iron Man's mental stability.

"I'll give you a hint," George offered. "Back when the area around Glastonbury Tor was fenland, the River Brue fed into a lake."

Mitchell blinked and seemed to suddenly catch up with George. Either that or he had suffered some sort of sudden brain injury, because his next words were completely mystifying:

"Was there… a lady… in the lake?" George nodded. Mitchell asked carefully, "Did she happen to possess a sword?"

"Strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government," Stark muttered. This time, neither Fury nor Coulson told him to shut up. Fury merely hit him in the back of the head. Stark, as though he could not stop himself, blurted, "Now we see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help, I'm being repressed!"

"Seriously, Stark, knock it off," Mitchell pleaded.

"He speaks the truth, however," Thor spoke up earnestly. "As a means of selecting a ruler, the method he describes seems singularly ill-advised." Mitchell buried his face in his hands, George cast his eyes skyward with a heavy sigh, and Thor looked to Loki for an explanation. Equally mystified, Loki could only shrug.

George, with remarkable patience, tried again. "The River Brue used to feed a lake. And, according to some folklore, it may be the lake at Avalon, occupied by the Lady of the Lake, who gave the sword Excalibur to Arthur. After Arthur was mortally wounded, he was removed to the Isle of Avalon and Sir Bedivere-- not one word, Stark-- was given the task of returning Excalibur to the Lake. All this happened after Mordred's death-- or whatever it was-- so it's possible Mordred doesn't know exactly what became of Excalibur and hasn't found it yet. But, in your opinion as an expert, Loki," -- Loki sat up straighter and tried to look reliable -- "would a powerful sword forged by sorcery be able to control the kind of magic we've been talking about?"

"I would certainly think so," Loki agreed cautiously. A further thought occurred to him. "It is also possible this sorcerer is powerful at the moment because he has been storing magic, and has not yet expended it. If we can prevent him from finding the hiding place of this sword, and if we can provoke him into spending his own magic recklessly, we may be able to defeat him. If he has been in hiding all this time, he may not even realize yet that his power is not endless."

"That's the first hopeful thought we've heard since this mess started," Fury remarked.

"Okay. So the first order of business tomorrow is to go looking for Excalibur ourselves?" Coulson asked. He paused, then shook his head. "I can't believe I just said that."

"I guess so," George replied. "If it's still there to find. I think we can bet it's been cloaked with magic, so that means Loki again. Are you up for it?"

"Of course," Loki replied, as confidently as he could.

~oOoOo~

The meeting, such as it was, broke up shortly afterward. By this time Loki was so hungry he was seriously considering biting someone. Before he could do anything rash, however, Stark paused beside him and said,

"You've been magicked away for three days. That probably means you missed lunch. Come on with me, we'll find something to eat." Loki understood this to mean that Stark wished to speak with him privately, but as long as there was food involved he did not really care. He excused himself to his friends, evaded Thor, and followed Stark to the galley.

Stark seemed in no hurry to open the conversation, instead shooing out the kitchen staff and rummaging among cupboards and refrigerators. Loki leaned on a steel counter and waited for Stark to make some sort of opening gambit.

Stark, head deep inside the refrigerator, remarked, "Ooh, bacon. And tomatoes. I foresee BLTs in the very near future. Possibly with cheese on them. You want to slice some tomatoes while I fry up the bacon?" Loki nodded, realized Stark could not see him, and made a noise of assent. "Great. Here you go, be careful with the knife, it's extremely sharp."

"I am fairly adept with knives," Loki replied neutrally, took the tomatoes and knife to the counter, and got to work. A few minutes later an appetizing smell began to emerge from the stovetop, and Stark, without looking up from the skillet, said,

"I'm sorry about that dustup we had in the woods on Wednesday morning. I'd like to say I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, but let's face it: I did. And now I feel like I was being unfair."

"It is good of you, to apologize," Loki said quietly. "I am also sorry, for flying into such a temper. I had not slept well the night before, and also… I suppose one would say I have a guilty conscience."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Stark said. "It's weird, Loki. You don't seem like such a bad guy. And yet, you've done some things."

That was an understatement.

If Stark was not going to admit to speaking to Thor, Loki was not going to admit to eavesdropping on them. Concentrating closely on his tomatoes, Loki said tiredly,

"There were… a great many misunderstandings."

Stark let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, come _on._ You're not going to try to play the 'I was just misunderstood' card, are you?"

"I do not know what cards have to do with anything," Loki replied, "but the misunderstandings were all on my part. I spent many years making myself sick with loneliness and jealousy and the conviction that I was not… loved, and then after I had brought disaster on myself and everyone I love and a great many innocent bystanders, it turned out what I longed for all that time was right before me, and I simply could not see it. I do not know what is wrong with me, that I could not perceive what was obvious to everyone else."

"Ah," Stark said, thoughtfully. "That sounds kind of familiar, Loki." He glanced up. "My old man was a hard act to follow, and I always felt like a massive screw-up compared to him. Okay, I actually _was_ a massive screw-up, compared to him. Even after he died, I felt like I was still disappointing him."

Loki put the knife down and looked at Stark. "That sounds extremely painful." At least he and his father had finally made themselves understood to one another. They had wasted a great deal of time, and it in no way made up for the damage inflicted on others, but it was something.

"It was, when I admitted to it," Stark said. "The funny thing was, I misunderstood him, too. I didn't think he even liked me, until Fury gave me a posthumous message from him. Turns out he was always pretty proud of me. Now, why he could never say it to my face, I don't know."

"Perhaps he thought you just knew," Loki suggested.

Stark nodded. "Yeah. I think that was it. Except I didn't. Maybe you can relate to that, too." He pushed the frying bacon around in the skillet for a little longer and then said, "His business partner, Obadiah Stane, who ran the business until I could take over, and who looked out for me when I needed a dad, was a lot more openly affectionate. Right up until he tried to have me killed, then tried to run me out of the business, and then tried to kill me himself."

Loki put the knife down again. "I can see how you might have reservations about me, after an experience like that. Perhaps you feel you should protect my brother from what I might do next." He was not being sarcastic: after such betrayals it seemed an entirely reasonable attitude for Stark to take.

Stark shrugged. "I've been telling myself that your brother can look after himself." Loki did not mention his own belief that Thor was not, perhaps, quite as trusting as Stark seemed to think. It was an idea too painful to look at very closely. Stark went on, "I've also been telling myself, and this part is true, that I am probably more suspicious of other people's motives than is good for me or anyone else. So here's a promise: unless and until you do something to prove you can't be trusted, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki murmured. The fact Stark was saying this at all made it very clear he thought there was a good chance Loki would in fact do something to offer such proof. When people are genuinely trustworthy, they are simply trusted. Still, Loki supposed this was an improvement over silent suspicion.

"Good," Stark said abruptly. "I think this bacon is ready. How about we make some toast?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I've looked up actual mythology, folklore, and names of sources, and then messed with them for my own ends. Hopefully anyone versed in Arthurian mythology will forgive me.

Bacon is the Siren of foods. Before Stark and Loki had a chance to put their sandwiches together, the rest of the group arrived, drawn by the fragrance from the skillet. Loki knew it would be polite to offer his freshly-constructed bacon-lettuce-tomato-and-cheese sandwich to one of the newcomers, but he was too hungry for courtesy. Fortunately, the others seemed prepared to fend for themselves.

Stark dumped the entire package of bacon into the skillet and advised their companions to have at it. There was a large metal work table in the centre of the room, and everyone ended up standing around it to give their sandwich fillings a safe place to fall.

Fury, looking practically human as he juggled his slithery concoction of tomato and bacon, glanced at George and asked,

"Just how sure are you about this Mordred thing?"

George shrugged as he placed lettuce on his sandwich and added the top piece of toast. "Not very, but it's a theory, which is more than we had until now." Fury shrugged in a way that conceded the point. "I spoke of the River Brue. Back in the time of Arthur, as I said, before the fens were drained, it would have been more of a lake. A bridge spanning the western end of the lake was referred to as the 'Perilous Bridge,' or 'Pont Perileux,' and that may have been where Sir Bedivere went to throw Excalibur back to the Lady of the Lake."

"And you think you can find the site of this bridge?" Fury asked. He kept looking at George as he prepared to take a bite, but he stopped entirely, sandwich falling apart in his hands, at George's reply:

"Sure I can. The bridge is still there. It's now called Pomparles Bridge, probably a corruption of the original name--"

"It's _still there?"_ Fury repeated. George and Mitchell both nodded. "You English bastards built things to last, didn't you? No wonder you ended up with an empire."

"Nothing to do with me," Mitchell, the Irish vampire, murmured as he stacked tomato, cheese, and bacon on his sandwich.

"Sure it is, you guys probably had to do the heavy lifting," George pointed out.

Loki had made short work of his first sandwich, and was constructing a second with rather less wolfish intensity, when he remembered the documents he had purloined from the lair at the ruin.

"George, I had forgotten-- there are some things you should look at," Loki said, words slightly unclear because he was licking his fingers as he spoke. George looked up, eyebrows raised. Loki concentrated for a moment and then pointed at a drawer on the other side of the kitchen, near the sink. "They are in there."

George cast Loki a puzzled glance, but he wiped his hands on a paper napkin and crossed the kitchen to investigate the drawer. Everyone watched as George pulled open the drawer open and white light spilled out.

"Whoa!" George yelped, shielding his eyes.

Loki shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. Magic can be unnecessarily dramatic sometimes." He extended his right hand and the glow leaped across the room, to be absorbed in his skin. Flexing his fingers and ignoring the looks he was getting from the others, Loki said calmly, "You should be able to see them now."

George blinked, reached into the drawer, and came up with the untidily folded document and the beautiful leather-bound book.

"What are they?" Steve asked. He was at the end of the worktable farthest from Stark, Fury, and Coulson, but appeared progressively less frightened of them. Either the spell was wearing off of its own accord, or Mordred, if he really was Mordred, had miscalculated the amount of courage his victim actually possessed.

George brought the two items back to the work surface and used his elbow to clear the space before him. Mitchell and Annie leaned forward to help, Mitchell polishing the surface with a handful of paper napkins. George set the documents down with almost reverent care, wearing the same expression Loki remembered on the face of Asgard's librarians when they handled magical tomes.

"Loki, what are they?" Thor asked, leaning forward curiously.

Loki, his mouth full, shrugged and chewed furiously. When he could speak, he explained, "I have no idea. There were a great many documents spread across a table in the lair, and I remembered George's knowledge of the legends of his realm. So I brought these back for him to look at."

"How did you choose these in particular?" George asked, almost dreamily.

"The sheet was the first that came to hand, and the book was small enough for me to cope with in raven form."

"And you didn't know what they were?" George persisted. Loki shook his head, which George did not see, his eyes being fixed upon the documents before him. Using the very tip of his finger, George gently eased the cover of the book open. "This seems to be a copy of part of the _Annales Cambriae_ , which was written sometime in the tenth century."

"Can you read it?" Coulson asked, with professional interest.

"Probably. This part is in Latin, and the good thing about dead languages is, they stop evolving. If it was in tenth-century Welsh I'd be lost." George blinked and looked up, as though trying to evade the spell of the book. "To be honest, I don't think there's anything in this particular history that will help us. The important part is this: the _Annales_ is one of the first historical sources that refers to Arthur, Mordred-- or Medraut, as he's called in this source-- and the battle of Camlann, where both of them died."

"Wait, Arthur is in the history books? For real?" Stark asked.

George shrugged. "It's generally believed that references to Arthur, Merlin, and Mordred were taken from existing Welsh folklore and added to the more historically accurate accounts. Scholars don't believe this really proves Arthur's existence as an historical figure. What interests me, though, is that Mordred, if we're really dealing with Mordred, apparently stole this from somewhere for his own use."

"It couldn't have been something he owned already?" Coulson asked, then raised his hand in apology. "Sorry, of course not. Tenth century, and it discusses his _death_."

"So, what? He's doing the medieval equivalent of Googling himself?" Stark asked.

George turned another page, using his fingernail. "Something like that. Remember, he died at Camlann, whereas Arthur was mortally wounded and lived long enough to send Bedivere-- or someone, the record varies on who, but let's say Bedivere-- "

"Yes, let's," Stark muttered.

"-- to throw Excalibur back into the Lake."

"So?" Fury prompted. George was enough of a scholar to forget how terrifying Fury could be, and favour him with a look of impatience.

"So Mordred was _dead_ when all this happened. Which means he doesn't know exactly what became of Excalibur. The fact he's apparently studying the record means he isn't sure where to look. He's got the advantage of us because he knows where Camelot and Avalon and all these places really were, but we have the advantage of him because we know the mythology."

"And by 'we,' you mean 'you,'" Mitchell pointed out. George raised his hands helplessly.

"Fine. _I_ know the mythology. I'm perfectly happy to tell you everything I know, but it would help if some of us had at least read _The Once and Future King_." He turned to Loki. "How fast can you read?"

"Quite fast," Loki told him.

George turned to Fury. "Can we send someone back to the house? I have a copy of--"

Annie, who of course was not eating, stood. "Where is it?"

"In the bookcase next to the window. Second shelf from the top, I think."

"Be right back," Annie announced, and vanished. True to her word, about five minutes later she reappeared, startling Steve, and dropped a cloth-bound hardcover book, in a paper dust jacket, on the table in front of George. This startled Stark. It might have startled Fury and Coulson as well, if they were the type to ever let it show.

George pushed the book across the surface toward Loki. "It's an omnibus, a collection of several related works. The one dealing with Mordred is the final book, _The Candle In the Wind_. It might help you understand all this, if you have a look at that part."

Loki nodded, wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, and delicately lifted the cover open. There was an inscription inside the cover: _This Book Belongs To: George Sands, Aged 9_. The printing was large and childish, and Loki was visited with a vision of the young George, face screwed up in concentration, stating his claim in careful ink. He closed the cover very gently and smiled at his friend.

"I will give it my utmost attention. Thank you for entrusting it to me."

George nodded and smiled back. Meanwhile, with considerably less concern for ancient artifacts, Tony Stark leaned across the table and picked up the single sheet of rag paper.

"And what's this?" he asked. Annie, catching sight of George's expression of scholarly anguish, leaned forward and gently plucked the sheet from Stark's bacony fingers. Stark recoiled violently and Annie set the sheet before George, who studied it carefully. After a moment he sat back, looking stunned.

"It appears to be a letter. To Guenevere. Telling her about the death of Arthur. I can't make out the signature."

"Does it say what happened to the sword?" Fury asked practically.

George shook his head. He did not appear to care about that point, just stared at the document before him with astonished and nearly reverent eyes.

Loki quietly finished eating his sandwich, wiped his hands, and took up the book belonging to George Sands, Aged 9.

~oOoO~

The next morning dawned cold and rainy. Of course it did, Loki reflected. That was exactly the weather in which one should be traipsing around in open boats, looking for mythological artifacts.

To add to his misery, he had slept badly again, having sat up late on the observation deck acquainting himself with TH White's account of Mordred, born by betrayal to a mother who alternately coddled and abused him; and a father who tried to have him killed, then later tried fruitlessly to make up for the unforgivable. Probably, if he had time to read the entire book, Loki would come out with a more favourable opinion of King Arthur, but the account of the drowned infants had hopelessly prejudiced him.

At the same time, Mordred's fixed, vengeful malice had seemed horribly plausible. Understandable. Not excusable, but... familiar. Loki could not decide whether the disaster visited upon Mordred's whole family was planned, or incidental to his main purpose of destroying Arthur. He could not stop envisioning Thor's face when he read the anguished lines attributed to Mordred's eldest brother, Gawaine. And he could not decide, if he had read this story five hundred years ago, whether he would have been able to take it as a warning.

He must have slept, sitting up in his chair, since he distinctly remembered dreaming of being underwater, limbs swaddled so he could hardly struggle as his lungs filled. Of standing in a courtyard much like the ruin on Glastonbury Tor, looking around at still, bloodied figures and knowing he bore the responsibility for their deaths. Thor. Mitchell and George. Tony Stark. He had managed to wake himself before he could see whether the corpse lying nearest the wall was Annie.

Really, all things considered, Loki felt nostalgic for the good old days when all he had to worry about was every vampire in the United Kingdom wishing to tear him to shreds.

Lost in his thoughts, Loki was taken violently by surprise when someone touched his shoulder. He spun to his right, barely restraining a burst of defensive magic.

Mitchell took a step backward, holding up a mug of tea appeasingly. "Whoa. Are you all right?"

Loki took the proffered beverage with an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry. Yes. I am... all right. Fine."

Mitchell took a sip of his own tea and remarked, "That's good. I'm feeling quite unsettled, myself. I had gruesome dreams last night." At Loki's interrogative glance, Mitchell elaborated, "Herrick was back, or else I was in the past. Anyway, I was with him, and we were... hunting." Mitchell, his gaze gone inward, did not elaborate. Loki, whose memories of the merciless vampire captain were vivid, did not press his friend, but he moved a little closer, as if sheer proximity might be comforting. Mitchell, recognizing the gesture, smiled feebly.

Despite his reluctance to go out into the rain, it was a relief to Loki when George and the others appeared, George far too excited about the hoped-for discoveries of the day to have had anything in the line of unpleasant dreams. Loki was visited with a rush of affection for the bookish werewolf, although he did wonder what George Sands, Aged 9, had made of _The Candle In the Wind._

Annie came to stand between Mitchell and Loki, looking tired although she almost never slept anyway. She had roused Loki from the drowning dream and had been there when he scrabbled awake from the bloody one. Now he realized she had probably also gone to Mitchell, had spent her own sleepless night trying to comfort her friends. He put an arm around her, wordlessly trying to thank her.

Steve and Tony Stark also looked tired this morning. Loki did not ask whether they had slept well, as they manifestly had not and he was not feeling up to hearing about anyone else's nightmares. Fury gave no sign of any such weakness, although it crossed Loki's mind to wonder whether he ever found it tiring, to be a main feature in the nightmares of others. Coulson was his usual well-turned-out self. Loki could not detect any supernatural elements about him, but there was definitely something not entirely human about the man.

The agent nodded courteously to everyone, took note of the angle of Loki's arm and, reaching the correct conclusion, said, "Good morning, Annie." Then he considered Loki. "Ready to go?" Loki nodded. "How well do you swim?"

"Not particularly," Loki admitted. "On Asgard, rivers tend to flow off the edge of the realm. I was never much inclined to risk them."

Coulson looked concerned, or at least interested. "So how are you going to-- ?"

"I have a plan," Loki replied briefly.

Thor, who appeared nearly as tired as Mitchell, looked worried. Loki briefly wondered whether he too had bad dreams, and whether all these were caused by the magic surrounding them, or some other malign influence from the sorcerer they sought. Again, he did not ask Thor how he had slept, because he had no desire to see the expression of guilt that would cross Thor's transparently honest face when he tried to pretend he had not dreamed of the crimes, actual or potential, of his brother.

George looked around as though only now realizing he was the only one who looked forward to the morning's activities. His expression touched Loki, who spoke up as cheerfully as he could manage.

"I have a plan," he repeated. "And I need to remember to bring a big towel. Do you suppose it is safe for me to eat breakfast, or should I wait until afterward?"

~oOoOo~

Actually, by the time he had drunk his tea and consumed some eggs and toast with jam-- all the bacon having been eaten up the night before-- Loki felt considerably better about everything. Once outside, it turned out the weather was just as wet but not quite as cold as he had anticipated. The expedition to the River Brue consisted of himself, George, Thor, Stark and Coulson. Loki was not at all surprised to discover that Coulson was a competent handler of small motor-boats.

George navigated them along the river toward a small stone bridge of great antiquity: Pomparles Bridge, or the Perilous Bridge, from which the sword Excalibur was cast back to the Lady of the Lake. In spite of the dreary beginning to the day, Loki found himself experiencing a shiver of excitement that caused him to smile quite genuinely at George as the boat carried them along.

Coulson suddenly spoke up. "I don't know if Fury's mentioned this to you, Loki, but SHIELD has been fielding a bunch of messages about you in the last couple of days."

Loki turned to the agent, his good mood evaporating. He carefully did not look at Thor, who would feel bound to defend his brother no matter his own worries about Loki's intentions.

George, however, had no reservations. "About Loki? What kind of messages?" he demanded.

Coulson, eyes on the river, replied serenely, "Apparently the headmistress of your school-- I assume that's the same thing as a principal?-- and the head custodian have been raising hell about your disappearance. Fury heard from the Member of Parliament for your riding last night, about the 'police-state activities' of an organization that 'does not even answer to the British legal system.' I think I have that right. She demanded that you be released at once. Fury's had to explain you're not under arrest or suspicion of any sort, and are assisting us as a consultant. Stark, you might need to do some heavy damage control once we get this sorcerer thing sorted out." Coulson glanced at Loki and, in his usual tone of cheerful indifference, explained, "Thought you might like to know people are concerned about you."

"Thank you," Loki said, unable to conceal his surprise, or how moved he was. "That is indeed a nice thing to know." Coulson nodded, as though it made no difference to him whatsoever, and returned his attention to the river.

As they approached the bridge, Loki became aware of another mysterious sensation, not a smell precisely but something like it, of fresh green vegetation, and a faint sound like tiny frogs peeping in the very edges of his hearing. He verified the others could not smell or hear anything except the river and the rain falling upon it, then looked at George, who was big-eyed at the implications.

"It appears your theories are correct," Loki congratulated him. "Let us see whether there is anything here to find."

"Can you-- sense Mordred?" George asked anxiously.

Loki shook his head. "No, this is completely different magic. If he has been here, it was long enough ago for his magic to have dissipated. Or perhaps he has not yet found the information he needs in the original sources. Perhaps he, too, should turn to more modern interpretations."

"Ironic, really, from a researcher's point of view," George remarked.

Coulson brought the little motorboat to a halt a safe distance from the bridge. "Okay. Since you can't swim very well, now what?"

Loki was shrugging out of his rain jacket and pulling his sweatshirt off over his head. The chilly rain striking his skin made him flinch. "Now, I become something that can." He closed his eyes and thought hard about the shape he had chosen in the small hours of the night, when he was trying to keep his mind on something that would not cause another nightmare.

He opened them on a gray-and-white world, looked up at the looming figures above him, and let out a sound very much like a bark.

And then, in otter form, he slipped over the side into the water.

Loki had spoken the truth when he said he was no swimmer. He was, however, extremely experienced in allowing the shapes he took on to control the physical form while he remained in charge of the mind. As a result, after a moment of alarm at finding himself out of his depth, the otter form took over and Loki found himself paddling strongly around the boat, using his webbed paws to propel himself and his remarkably powerful tail to assist his steering. The otter form enjoyed this tremendously, and after another quick yap at the occupants of the boat, Loki submerged and glided toward the bottom of the river. He reached it, reversed himself, swam back to the surface and popped his head up next to the boat.

Confident now that he could negotiate this element, Loki took a breath, flipped himself over, and swam underwater toward the bridge.

As he did so, he was aware of glow in the shadow of the structure. Loki slowed down long enough to permit the new magic to permeate him.

Then he swam confidently through the portal.

~oOoOo~

Loki surfaced in what seemed to be a bathing pool within a bright, airy chamber. He looked around, blinking, even in otter form able to perceive the delicate workmanship of the furnishings and their soothing colours.

A voice spoke:

"Welcome, guest. It has been many years since we have been graced with a visitor." The voice was female, warm and familiar. Loki turned himself in the water and gazed upon the Lady of the Lake, standing in the doorway of the chamber, the glowing light behind her rendering her a darkened, graceful outline. "This realm is now a stranger to magic. I would ask how you were able to find your way to my home, and also your purpose in coming here."

As she spoke, the Lady moved forward so he could see her properly. In spite of the familiar voice, Loki was momentarily startled to find himself gazing into the smiling face of his mother, gowned in robes of white. Apparently even an otter may express surprise, because the Lady looked amused.

"It is my custom to appear to my guests in a form they can comprehend. I formed this habit when communing with humans. I perceive that you are something other, so perhaps it is unnecessary." She gave him a look of understanding, and added, "Though it may be that you would prefer to speak to me in this form, regardless."

Loki, while fairly confident the Lady would be able to communicate with him as an otter, felt at a bit of a disadvantage. He hooked his paws over the ledge of the bathing pool and borrowed a bit of the magic in the chamber. Leaving the otter body safely anchored, Loki moved his consciousness into an image of himself, in his old Asgardian clothing, standing next to the pool.

There was no real purpose behind the Asgardian garb, except that he felt modern Midgardian clothing would seem greatly out of place. In the heavy clothing and armor, even as a shade, he moved differently, and instinctively placed his right hand over his heart as he made a courtesy to the Lady. She smiled, inclined her head, and repeated her question:

"You are welcome, stranger, but I would know your purpose in coming."

Loki decided, against his usual inclination, to speak plainly. Perhaps it was the fact the Lady wore the appearance of his mother. "I wish to learn the fate of a sword."

"Indeed," the Lady replied quietly. "In the history of this realm, many swords have been forged, fought with, and broken. Which do you seek?"

Loki bowed slightly and replied, "I would learn the fate of the sword Excalibur, if it please your Ladyship."

Without moving, the Lady seemed to remove herself to a terrible distance. "That is not a question to be lightly asked or answered. A weapon of such power is no plaything for young adventurers."

"I understand, my Lady," Loki replied humbly. "I am aware it possesses great magic."

"The one who wields it may claim sovereignty of this realm," the Lady said, rebukingly. "Is that your wish?"

Loki did not try to meet her eyes. "It is not. I have found myself... unsuited to kingship, and it is not a destiny I seek. However, I believe another wishes to find the sword and use its power, to the detriment of this realm. My intent is to stop him."

The Lady regarded Loki intently. "And who is this other?"

Loki took a deep breath. "I believe him to be Mordred."

The Lady was silent for a long moment. "So. He has returned." Loki folded his hands before himself and waited. "Are you sure it is Mordred?"

Loki shook his head. "No, my Lady. No one has seen him, and we only surmise that he seeks Excalibur. The only thing of which I am sure is, a powerful sorcerer attacked friends of mine, and placed a curse on one of them."

"What manner of curse?" inquired the Lady.

"He is afflicted with fear," Loki replied briefly.

The Lady nodded. "Fear was ever Mordred's weapon, and his own curse."

"The magic of the realm has awakened," Loki went on to explain.

"Indeed?" Loki received the impression this was, as the mortals would say, not news to the Lady.

"Yes. My companions and I encountered it. It was very angry, and told us the sorcerer we sought was himself looking for something. When I shared the information that we were trying to find and stop him, the magic became more friendly. I believe this sorcerer is attempting to control the magic of the realm for his own purposes, and seeks Excalibur to assist him."

"And your purpose in visiting me is-- ?" the Lady prompted.

Loki had been entirely honest with her up to this point, but he was suddenly aware of the arrogance of his mission. To simply walk into the Lady's abode and expect her to give him Excalibur! He must have been mad. They must all have been mad.

Self-conscious at the sheer ridiculousness of the request, he did not lie, exactly. Rather, he changed the nature of his task. He preferred to face the wrath of Nick Fury rather than have the Lady think less of him.

"I wish to ensure that you are warned, and can protect the sword, and thus the realm, from a potential enemy."

The Lady inclined her head again, and regarded Loki with a kind and knowing expression. "All this way, and only for that?"

Loki swallowed, face blazing hot. He began to think her appearance was more purposeful than she would have had him believe. "I originally came to ask you to allow me to take Excalibur away with me, to assist my efforts to stop this other sorcerer."

"But you no longer wish to do so?" she asked gently.

"It now seems... arrogant," Loki murmured. "As though I believed you incapable of protecting it yourself."

The Lady smiled, as though he had stumbled in innocence upon the correct answer. "This is not a fortress, young friend. Mordred, though perhaps new to sorcery, is the son and nephew of sorcerers, and he will quickly learn to control and follow magic as well as you do. Should he arrive here, I have no guards, nor soldiers to protect me. Excalibur is mine to bestow, not to wield."

"My companions and I could offer you protection," Loki heard himself saying. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he could almost hear Nick Fury's reaction to such an idea. It did not matter.

"Perhaps," the Lady said. "Or, perhaps, the best course is indeed for you to take the sword and use it in defense of the realm." Loki was silent, and the Lady stepped forward, her expression intent. "You must understand that, as soon as it leaves this fastness, its magic will be instantly perceptible to any warlock. You will not need to seek Mordred, if Mordred he is. He will find you. And if you meet him in the same heart and spirit as he engages you, he will prevail. Do you understand?"

Loki bowed his head. "Yes, my Lady."

The Lady regarded him a moment longer, apparently deep in thought. Then she smiled and extended her hands. Loki had barely had time to form the impression she wished to take his when there appeared, lying across her palms, a beautifully-wrought, finely-balanced sword in a heavy leather scabbard. The Lady did not look down at it, and Loki forced himself to hold her gaze with his own.

"The scabbard was returned to me before the sword. It has powers of its own, and can protect its wearer from harm." The Lady smiled again. "The sword may also be able to end the curse on your friend." Loki nodded. The Lady's smile disappeared. Gravely, she spoke: "Do you swear to use this weapon only in rightful defense of the realm?"

"I do," Loki replied.

"Will you bear this sword with an honest heart and in a spirit of truth?" Something in Loki's expression, or possibly in his heart, made the Lady pause, looking sternly at him.

Loki swallowed hard. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. If necessary, he could ask Thor for guidance, since he was not sure he could trust himself. Surely knowing he was not to be trusted, and being willing to do something to guard against his own worst self, was a step in the right direction?

"I will," he said.

Apparently his reply at least indicated a sincere willingness to try. The Lady nodded, and went on:

"And do you promise, when its use has ended, to return this sword to its rightful home, here in the Lake of Avalon, where it will rest until it is needed once again?"

Loki did not even think about Nick Fury's feelings on the matter. "I do."

"Then take Excalibur, and go in peace," said the Lady. A warm glow suffused the room. Loki was momentarily blinded.

When the light subsided, the Lady was gone.

~oOoOo~

Loki swam toward the shape of the boat, above him on the surface. It was considerably harder to make headway using only his back paws and tail, but he persevered.

As his head broke the surface of the water, he changed back into his own form and grabbed the side of the boat with his left hand. Stark and Thor leaned toward him, making the vessel rock dangerously.

"Okay," Stark said, sounding impatient. "You've practiced being an otter. You've even got the cute thing down pat. Now, are you going to go looking for the damned sword?"

Apparently, no time at all had passed since he had submerged himself. Loki was almost disappointed, although truly, he had no desire to make George sit in the rain for several days, or cause Thor to worry again. Ignoring Stark, Loki caught George's eye and grinned at him.

"I've brought you something," he announced, managing to get the words out without being betrayed by chattering teeth.

Then he brought his right arm out of the water and laid Excalibur on the floor of the boat.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's comments on how the PM is addressed in the British House Of Commons may or may not be accurate: I'm extrapolating from what happens in Ottawa.

"It's… amazing," George said dreamily, gazing raptly at Excalibur, which lay on a folded blanket in the middle of the conference table. He made no effort to touch it, nor had anyone else, including Loki after he laid it on its makeshift mantle. At the moment, Loki was sitting at the far end of the table, in clothes damp from lying on the bottom of the boat in the rain, river water still dripping off his hair, huddled into Thor's red cape. Loki appreciated the cape because, as chilly and uncomfortable as he was, he could not seem to tear himself away from Excalibur long enough to soak himself in a hot shower and put on clothing that was truly dry.

George leaned forward in his chair, reached out a tentative hand, and then drew it back. Loki wondered whether that was purely in reverence, or whether George could also feel the magic pulsing from the weapon. Loki could sense it from the far end of the table. He suspected he would be able to feel it from anywhere in the helicarrier. The power from the sword seemed to throb in time with the beat of Loki's heart. His mouth was dry, and his skin prickled uncomfortably within his damp clothing.

Presumably, wherever he was, Mordred could feel it, too.

"Okay, now that we've got it, what are we going to do with it?" Coulson asked, practically.

"The Lady said that with it, we could remove Steve's curse," Loki said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "I have been giving that some thought." He had indeed, and was proud of himself for being able to think as rationally as that when every nerve in his body yearned toward Excalibur. "After that, I think the best course is to place guards, or wards, upon… it." He had nearly referred to the sword as "him."

"You think our guards will be any use against Mordred?" Fury said.

"Oh, no," Loki replied, startled. "Not human guards. Magical ones. I have… a thought about that, as well." Cautiously, because he was not at all sure his suggestion would be taken kindly, he said, "We will need to take both Steve and Excalibur down to earth."

"You want to leave the helicarrier? With Excalibur?" Fury asked, in the tone Fury took when he was daring you to repeat the incredibly stupid thing you had just said.

Loki did. "I think we need the… the local magic to assist us. I believe I can use Excalibur to pull the curse from Steve to myself, but the question is, what happens after that? I am a little concerned that, if the curse has nowhere to go save into me, we may simply exchange one terrified person for another. And I would prefer to have all my wits about me when Mordred comes to find us."

"So you want to send the curse into the ground. Literally, ground it," Fury said thoughtfully. Loki nodded. "When you put it that way, it seems reasonable. What about the magical guards?"

"Again, if I can use magic from the realm itself, that will reduce the demands placed on my own sorcery, and will make the wards a great deal stronger than I could fashion them on my own."

"You've done this kind of magic before, though, right?" Fury asked.

"You mean, placed a protective spell on something?" Loki replied. "From childhood. Ask Thor whether he was ever able to enter my chambers when I was not there."

Thor, who had been looking worried, laughed suddenly. "Ask Loki how pleased Mother was, to have her elder son transformed into a chicken when he tried to spy on her younger."

Loki grinned. "I had forgotten that particular incident. You were a most handsome rooster. I was almost sorry to change you back, before the spell wore off on its own."

"But since Mother could not very well punish a rooster for spying, you had to do so," Thor pointed out.

"So you're saying the local vampires were lucky, just to be threatened by rhinoceroses when they tried to enter the school grounds," Mitchell spoke up.

"Yes," Thor said, glanced at Loki, and went into a peal of laughter. "It got so that Sif and the Warriors and I used to dare one another to try and break into Loki's chambers, just to see what would happen to us. We only quit when-- " Thor stopped laughing.

"You quit when you could no longer be sure the magic would do no lasting harm," Loki finished the sentence. He had not known their persistent efforts to get into his rooms sprang from such a harmless motive. If he had, if he had taken their efforts in a different spirit, would anything have been different? Well, it was too late for regrets. Glancing around the table, he said lightly, "You may all be astonished to learn that I can be rather spiteful."

"Well, you had little reason to trust our motives. Repeated trips to the healing rooms will eventually do that to a person," Thor admitted. "The spite was not all on your side. And it was certainly not right, that we did not let you know it was a game to us. I am quite sure now that it did not feel like one to you."

It had not. It had felt like Thor and his friends were unable to leave him in peace anywhere, and he had been sure that when they did break in they would make an end of everything that was his. In fact, knowing them, that really might have happened if they had "won," as a way of showing him as much, though they probably would not have intended to go quite so far. It was in angry desperation more than spite that he'd finally set a charm on his doors that could easily have killed someone. Very fortunately, Hogun was remarkably quick.

As Loki recalled, that was the end of Loki-the-quarry and the beginning of Loki-the-silently-endured. He winced at the memory.

"Well, please let them know, if they are ever in Bristol, that our door does not explode when knocked on. When we get our door back," Loki murmured.

"I'm never going to live down wrecking your house, am I?" Stark said, in cheerful resignation, and changed the subject. "So, you can place a protective spell on Excalibur that may or may not involve chickens, rhinos, or something blowing up. Right?"

"Right," Loki replied, grateful to the Iron Man for the diversion. "I will try to be creative. The thing is… it is probably best if the wards also prevent most of us from handling the sword. If one of you is captured, there is really no telling what kind of magic might be brought to bear against you. Against me, too, but obviously I have more experience with sorcery and might be better able to defend myself, or at least withstand it." Loki paused, waiting for the argument.

"So you should probably be the only one who can handle the sword?" Coulson shrugged. "That makes sense to me." He glanced at Fury, who looked dubious for a moment, but also nodded.

"Hell if I'd know what to do with it, anyway. Say, you and Thor?" Fury suggested.

"That seems reasonable to me," Loki said tentatively, looking around at the others. Thor was the only other of the group with any experience of magic or swordplay, so it was extremely unlikely anyone else would have reason to handle Excalibur.

Except…

"George, perhaps you would like to hold it, before we place any magic upon it," Loki suggested quietly. George, who had been gazing at Excalibur the way Loki thought one might gaze upon their firstborn, eight-legged foal or not, looked startled.

"Are you--?" He looked around for confirmation that nobody objected, then reached out and lifted the sword in both hands. It was obviously heavy. George turned the weapon gently in his hands, studied the intricately-worked hilt, then looked at Loki. "You should probably be the one to take it out of the scabbard. There are stories that its blade casts a blinding light-- that has to be magic. It's probably safer if it's you."

"Certainly," Loki said quietly, trying to conceal the thrill that hummed in his chest at the very idea. He stood, casting Thor's cape onto the back of his chair, and walked around the table to take Excalibur from George. No one moved to stop him.

The sword was indeed very heavy, but at the same time vital, like something alive. Loki could feel energy passing into his hands and wrists as he took hold of it. He knew his expression changed, he could not help it. He flicked a guilty glance at Thor and saw his brother look away, face anxious, but he could no more have put the sword down than he could have used it to cut off his own arm.

Loki took a breath and, as he exhaled, gently drew Excalibur from its leather scabbard.

The light was not a blinding flash, more like the intense warm glow that had accompanied the Lady's disappearance from Loki's sight. Loki was faintly aware of the others shielding their eyes, but not drawing back or seeming alarmed. He placed the scabbard on the table and held Excalibur in both hands, never taking his eyes from the shining blade. The glow intensified but somehow did not blind him or hurt in any way. In the edges of his vision he could see the others, bathed in radiance, and they were beautiful, so beautiful…

The light became almost unbearably bright, and then, as the magic sang through his body, Loki felt himself become larger and more powerful, filled with love and a protective anxiety for the realm and all who dwelt within it. It was dizzying.

After a moment the light faded. Loki gently laid Excalibur on the blanket next to the scabbard and, with a hand that trembled slightly, wiped inexplicable tears from his eyes. Fortunately, everyone else seemed to be looking at Excalibur, too.

Except for Thor. Thor's eyes were fixed on Loki, and as Loki looked up, he glanced away, once more wearing the expression of anxiety that hurt Loki to look at. There was no wonder, of course, that he should fear what Loki might do if power was returned to him. It was not as if Loki had not given Thor plenty of reason. It still stung.

"Wow," Steve said softly, his voice a welcome distraction. Loki looked up and saw Steve pass a hand over his own eyes. He seemed to be the only one aside from Loki who was affected so.

"You could feel it, too?" Loki asked.

Steve nodded. "I suddenly understand why the person who carries that sword gets to be king. It's as if the sword itself wants to…"

"Wants to what?" Stark asked, his tone more interested than suspicious. "The sword wants to rule?"

Loki shook his head. "The sword wants to protect. It's… remarkable." Even under enchantment, inanimate objects did not normally _want_.

"I didn't feel anything," Fury remarked. "I assume Rogers did because he's under a spell himself?"

Loki nodded. "Yes. It's the same reason he can see Annie, he is carrying magic with him. Unfriendly though it may be, it still makes him sensitive to other forms of enchantment." He looked at his housemates. "You really did not feel anything-- ?"

George shook his head regretfully. "Different kind of magic, I expect."

Stark spoke up again, his tone diffident. "So, that thing is pretty powerful, is it?"

"Yes," Loki agreed unguardedly. "Combined with the magic from the realm, one could…" An image popped into his mind from a book of fairy tales, and he laughed. "One could transform the Houses of Parliament into gingerbread."

He knew the laugh was a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth. He should have said nothing at all: he was not in a position in which it was wise to joke about what he could do with a powerful magical device, though he truly had been joking. Loki looked around, and flinched when Stark pointed at him, his expression registering sudden clarity.

The Iron Man's words were, however, anything but clear:

" _Top Gear_!"

"What?" Loki asked, bewildered, as he tried to think of a way to explain that he had simply been illustrating what Excalibur's power could do, not tipping his hand regarding his own nefarious intentions. And, really, how nefarious was _gingerbread_ , anyway? It was not as if he was threatening to roast the Members of Parliament in a giant oven.

 _Do not say that out loud!_ Loki told himself in a panic. He was going to talk himself right back into those accursed restraints if he was not careful.

Stark, fortunately, was _laughing_.

"You're exactly like the guys on _Top Gear_ ," he insisted, which still meant nothing to Loki, but Stark's amused expression at least was reassuring. Stark looked around at his comrades. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me I'm the only one of us who watches that show."

"I think you are," Coulson said patiently. "What about it?"

"It's a BBC program about three guys who are nuts about cars. They test drive new models, stuff like that. I've actually been a guest twice, I hold the lap record for two different 'reasonably-priced automobiles'." Stark looked around, saw nothing but incomprehension, and sighed. "The point is: the guys on the show don't want to steal the cars they review, or keep them forever, or do anything evil with them. They just want to… wind them out. I just realized that's who Loki reminds me of when he gets near powerful magic." Turning back to Loki, he said, "You don't want Excalibur to rule the world, you just want to find out what that bad boy can do. Take it for a spin, so to speak."

With a rush of relief, Loki realized that, although he still understood only about half of what Stark was saying, the Iron Man was actually defending him.

"I have no wish to rule this realm," Loki addressed the part of Stark's speech he had comprehended. "I have seen, on the television, how the Prime Minister is shouted at in the House of Commons." Midgard was so large, and its politics so varied, that lately when Loki spoke of "the realm" he really only referred to "his" part, the United Kingdom. Raised as he was in an absolute monarchy, Loki thought the British system of government was one of the funniest things he had ever encountered. Overall he approved, if only for the entertainment value, but he felt one would have to be mad indeed to wish to take an active role, grateful as he was the MP responsible for his own little corner of Bristol seemed to view him as part of her responsibilities. Still, the position seemed to offer comparatively little power for comparatively enormous headaches, so he considered it best to let the humans govern themselves, and remain an amused observer.

"Well, that's good to know," Stark said cheerfully. "It'd also probably be a good idea not to actually do the gingerbread stunt, either." Loki opened his mouth to explain that he had been kidding, then decided Stark, at least, already realized as much.

" _Top Gear_ ," Coulson said thoughtfully, then nodded as though the information had been appropriately filed and his full attention returned to the matter at hand. "So, are we going to get that curse off Steve before Mordred shows up?"

Fury stood. "Right." He glanced at Loki. "You're blue," he said abruptly, which made Loki start in alarm before he recalled the Midgardian idiom for "you appear to be cold and uncomfortable." Fury went on, "Everyone who was on the river trip, go get changed into something warmer. Loki, I'd appreciate if that wasn't a polar bear. Or a pot of tea. We'll head out right after."

Loki was unsure what it meant, for Fury to be joking, but he hoped it was a good sign.

~oOoOo~

Truly, there was no need for everyone to come along. Everyone came along regardless. Loki thought it was not that they did not trust him, more that Steve's friends felt he might find their presence beneficial. In Steve's position, Loki would certainly want Thor and the housemates with him. And possibly Tony Stark.

"How will you know if this works?" Fury asked as they walked toward the clearing where the magic had manifested itself.

Steve let out a dry chuckle. "Trust me. I'll _know_."

"For one thing," Coulson said thoughtfully, "once we get out of the magic zone, if the spell's gone he won't be able to see Annie anymore. Sorry, Annie," he added, looking in the wrong direction entirely.

"That's right," Steve said unhappily. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, it's not like you have any choice about it," Annie said bracingly.

"I don't know," Loki said thoughtfully. "I think one could eventually become accustomed to living with such a spell." This earned him a teasingly approving look from Annie, a stage-whispered, "Oooh, good one!" from Mitchell, and laughter from George, Thor, and Steve. Loki smiled as though he had been making a joke.

The humour faded as they approached the clearing and the magic began to make itself felt-- Coulson, once again, signaled it with a greeting to Annie that Fury echoed with a nod and Stark with a smile. The scent of damp earth and the taste of granite returned, but not the angry buzzing. The hum at the edge of his hearing was not as powerful as it had been the day he promised they would stop Mordred, but it was there.

Loki stopped in the middle of the clearing, and the others halted as though at a signal. Coulson scanned the ground and it took Loki a moment to realize the agent was, finally, looking for his lost knife. He had just started forward to help him when Coulson found it, tucking it into his pocket as he straightened.

"Sorry about that," he remarked. It was unclear whether he was apologizing to Loki for interrupting, or to the clearing for leaving the hated iron behind.

Excalibur, too, was of iron, but forged by the Lady or her servants, with love of the realm. As Loki unsheathed it, the humming sound he took for approval-- and he certainly hoped he had not misinterpreted _that_ \-- grew louder.

"All right, Steve," he said, "let us see what we can do."

"Okay," Steve agreed gamely. As he stepped forward, Annie intercepted him.

"Good luck," she said, hugging him.

Steve hugged back. "Thanks, Annie. And the rest of you guys, too," he added, smiling around at the housemates. He looked quite confident that what Loki had in mind would work.

Loki had given this considerable thought and was _almost_ confident in his own plan. He drew Excalibur from its scabbard, held it in his right hand, firmly by the hilt, blade pointing downward. He gestured to Steve step forward, into the glow of the blade, and place his hands on the hilt, then wrapped his own left hand around Steve's. He smiled encouragingly, then pressed gently down until the point of the blade made contact with the ground.

There was an immediate sensation of cold rushing up his arms, followed by a moment of absolute, disorienting terror. Loki clenched his hands, resisting the urge to throw Excalibur aside and simply bolt... anywhere. He looked at Steve and saw a smile of relief break out on the other man's face, swiftly followed by a look of concern as he realized what was happening to Loki.

And then the terror was gone, passing harmlessly into the ground, to be absorbed and diffused and then buried. Loki inhaled and exhaled, making sure it was really gone, let the feeling of gratitude pass through him and also into the earth itself. Then he took his left hand off Steve's, who released him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, genuinely upset. "I could see it hit you."

"I am fine," Loki replied, "but I am very sorry for making light of learning to live with that curse."

Steve smiled wryly. "You could probably do it, though. Motivation is a great thing."

"Speaking of motivation," Nick Fury spoke up. "You feeling motivated to go get this guy?"

Steve nodded. "Let me at him."


	12. Chapter 12

With Steve back to himself, the next question was how to bring their adversary into the open. As they walked out of the forest, Loki was considering the problem. He had placed protective wards upon Excalibur before they left the clearing. Despite his joking with Stark, he did not bother trying to be funny with the spell, though Stark's suggestion that anyone who attempted to steal the sword be attacked by something called the Bluebird of Happiness certainly sounded worth keeping in mind for another time.

He did not attempt to cloak the weapon with magic. The point was to bring Mordred to face him. And "face him" were indeed the operative words: obviously the Avengers were determined to fight the malignant sorcerer, but Loki was not at all confident there was much they could do. It was true that Iron Man had originally captured Loki by disabling him with a burst of electromagnetic energy, but that had worked because Loki was _alive_. Mordred had died some fifteen hundred years before, and Loki was extremely interested in finding out how he had returned, and in what form. It was not unheard-of in Asgard, for warriors especially to come back from death, but Loki had never known of a case personally.

 _Except for Thor_ , he reminded himself. Thor had returned from death after Loki made the Destroyer kill him. He knew this to be true, although he now remembered very little about the circumstances, his cowardly mind apparently trying to protect him from specific knowledge of his own treachery. However, to the best of his recollection, Thor had only been dead for a few seconds when the fact of his self-sacrifice recalled Mjolnir, and also restored Thor's hovering soul to his body.

There was a considerable difference between that case and whatever was happening here. By now, little would remain of Mordred's physical self, so unless he had commandeered a body from somewhere--

Loki stopped walking, so suddenly that George piled into him from behind. Loki hardly noticed himself stagger.

"Damn. Damn, damn, damn," he muttered, mind scrambling. How could he have been so _stupid_ as to miss this?

"What's the matter?" Fury asked, the edge in his voice the only evidence he realized Loki's tone meant something was very wrong.

"Mordred," Loki replied. "I have been assuming his powers are much like mine, that he carries magic within that must replenish itself after use."

"And now you think you're wrong?" Fury prompted.

Loki made a frustrated gesture. "I _must_ be wrong. Mordred has been _dead_ for fifteen hundred years. By now, his body is _dust_. That means he must himself be composed entirely of magical energy. If he cannot command the power in the realm, he either has a separate source of magic, or someone else is controlling him."

"Oh, great," Coulson said flatly. "So what you're saying is, there may be _two_ sorcerers out there."

Loki scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying desperately to think. "The Lady said he was the son and nephew of sorcerers. I should have questioned her about that-- "

"Sure," George said. "He's the son of Morgause, who was the sister of Morgana, or Morgan, Le Fay."

"Were either of them evil?" Fury cut to the heart of the matter.

"If you believe TH White, yes. Morgause, anyway. If you believe _The Mists Of Avalon_ , they were feminist heroes. Heroines. If you take a line somewhere in the middle, it's probably fair to say they were as interested as anyone else of the time in possessing and wielding power for their own ends."

"And what became of them?" Loki asked.

"Morgause, Mordred's mother, was supposed to have been killed by one of her sons-- either Gaheris or Agravaine, depending on the source." George paused. "You know, I don't know what happened to Morgan Le Fay. I mean, she was one of the enchantresses who carried Arthur to Avalon after the Battle of Camlann, but that's where the story I know ends."

"So she may have simply retreated, as magic became less prominent on this realm," Loki said, thinking out loud. "Where would she have gone?"

George frowned. "I suppose she'd still be on Avalon. That's where she came from, and it's the island of the dead-- " George fell silent when he realized how Loki was looking at him.

" _Avalon?_ " Loki demanded. "Once again, we return to Avalon? Does it strike anyone else that perhaps that is where we should focus our researches?"

~oOoOo~

The rain had let up, but there was a late-afternoon mist hanging around the foot of Glastonbury Tor as the group trudged toward it. They could have had the helicarrier loom over the tor, but even Fury thought that would be inappropriate, to say nothing of George's fear the thunder of the vessel's engines would actually harm the ruin on the crest of the hill.

Nobody minded, though the path was steep. Walking was traditional on a quest. Loki had to admit, however, that it felt very peculiar not to be among the followers. As the bearer of Excalibur, to say nothing of the only member of the group who would recognize a magical portal if it popped open at their feet, Loki was elected leader the group. George, their scholar, stayed close to Loki on his left. Thor and Steve followed directly behind, Steve a little to George's left and Thor a little to Loki's right, as protection in case they were needed. The others strung along behind, with Stark bringing up the rear.

Walking up the tor gave them an excellent view of the terraces that scored the side of the hill. George breathlessly explained that these were believed to have some connection with agriculture or defense, but might also have formed part of a labyrinth with some sort of religious significance. Loki had seen labyrinths before-- and had occasionally found amusement in rearranging the path behind himself as he escaped from one-- but the scale of this task confounded him. Even with magic it would be a remarkable accomplishment. The idea that it might have been entirely the work of stubborn primitives was nothing short of astonishing.

"I hate to sound like a kid on a car trip, but-- are we there yet?" Stark almost whined from the rear.

"What's the matter, Stark? Can't cope without your suit?" Steve teased. It had the sound of a long-running squabble between comrades, of the sort Loki was once accustomed to listen to between Thor and his friends on their expeditions as he trudged along with them.

"Loki, Steve's picking on me," Stark unexpectedly complained.

"Do not make me go back there, you two," Loki warned, because on the spur of the moment he could not think of a better riposte. The entire Midgardian contingent, except of course for Coulson and Fury, immediately began giggling as though he had said something extremely amusing.

And then they were at the summit of the tor, with the majestic ruined tower standing before them. Loki could feel everyone coming to a halt behind him, and he was not sure whether it was because they were in the presence of magic, or history, or a combination of the two.

"When was that thing built?" Fury asked quietly.

"Thirteen-twenties, I think," George supplied the answer. "It's smaller than the original, which was destroyed by an earthquake. This one was in active use until the monasteries were dissolved in the time of Henry VIII. The church itself was taken apart for the stone, so the tower is all that's left."

Loki looked back to see Fury shaking his head in amazement. "You English bastards really build things to last," he remarked, almost to himself.

George glanced at Loki. "Did I mention to you that there's supposed to be an entrance to Avalon itself, somewhere on the tor? To the land of the faeries?"

"I thought you said fairies didn't exist?" Stark objected.

"I said I'd never met one, and I that didn't know whether they really existed," George corrected him. "And then Loki met the Lady of the Lake, and she gave him Excalibur. At this point I think it's fair to say I'll believe just about anything."

"Says the werewolf," Stark murmured.

"Exactly," George replied with a grin.

"Have you any idea where such an entrance might be situated?" Loki asked. George shrugged.

"Probably not near the church, unless faeries have a better sense of humour than I think they do. And even if we did find it, we probably shouldn't try to actually enter, because time passes so differently among the faeries. We'd be apt to emerge a hundred years from now. Or a hundred years ago."

"Really," Mitchell said wistfully, a comment mostly lost in the general shuffle of everyone spreading out as though to search the hilltop. Loki touched Mitchell's arm in passing, but the vampire did not appear to notice: he was staring down the hill, eyes wide. Loki turned to see what he was looking at.

The sun had not quite set, but was hanging low in the sky, and shadows were long at the foot of the tor. It was therefore easy to see the light gliding toward them, following the curving lines of the terrace.

Apparently, it was not necessary that they seek Morgan Le Fay after all.

Loki would later consider it interesting that the Avengers, who were after all warriors, reacted to a man as though they perceived no threat. Considering they had come to learn whether Morgan Le Fay was the one who set Mordred upon them, this was curious.

Loki only thought of it later, because he, too, felt no peril as the light approached. He was instead very curious about the fact the Fay, for he assumed it was she, approached them, and permitted the entire group to see her.

The light paused at a slight distance from the group, hovered, and then resolved into the form of a tall, broad, very beautiful woman with silvery hair. Loki was struck with a feeling of familiarity as he looked at her, but it took him a moment to realize: this was much as Sif would probably look, when age and experience were reflected on her face. He nearly glanced at Thor to see whether his brother saw it, too, but he was unable to look away long enough to do so.

The woman walked forward and Loki inclined his head respectfully, hands folded before him. The woman halted a few paces from him and smiled.

"I believe I am the one you seek," she said, in a tone of warmly amused assurance. Everything about her demeanour was so at odds with the wicked enchantress Loki had almost expected that he probably should have been confused or suspicious. No emotions could have been further from his mind. "I am known as Morgan Le Fay."

"My lady," Loki murmured. Manners dictated he explain himself, though it hardly appeared to be necessary.

Before he could do so, Morgan Le Fay spoke.

"You are Loki, son of Laufey and of Odin. You are an enchanter, and you would find the sorcerer who tormented your friend and once again seeks to rule this realm." Loki bowed his head in assent. Morgan waited, and Loki spoke.

"We believe the one we seek is Mordred, though Mordred has been dead these many centuries and his body returned to the dust. That being so, we wish to know-- "

"Yes," Morgan said, her voice very tired. "You wish to know whether I assisted Mordred in his return. I did." She almost smiled. "And now I suppose you wish to know why? You would perhaps like to know whether it was… my little joke upon the realm?"

 _Just a bit of fun._ Loki clenched his hands, but kept his face impassive. "Was it?"

Morgan shook her head thoughtfully. "Mordred has been… much wronged. His mother was my sister, and very dear to me, but she was far from wise, or good. And his father's answer to the prophecies surrounding his son was what might be expected of a king of his time, but did not befit a hero." Loki, remembering his dream of drowning, remained silent. "It is not so hard to understand, how he grew up with a sense of grievance against the entire world, except perhaps for the mother who instilled it."

"The loves and hatreds of his frightful home," Loki murmured, remembering _The Candle In the Wind_. Morgan smiled at him, wearily.

"Yes. He was ever a mixture of love and hatred, and always choosing the wrong way about. I thought, after all this time, there was little he could do except to see what has become of the realm, see how it has gotten along since his father's time. It is not a place that welcomes magic, but it has its charms. I thought, perhaps, he could see… Arthur's day is past. The Once and Future King will not return. Nor will the Old Ones who fought against him, nor will his Knights of the Round Table. All of them, everything Mordred fought against, and wished to be part of, and hated, and loved, and tried to destroy… all of them are gone. And yet the realm endures, and the people are really… not so different from what they were. I thought perhaps, if he could go back and see this, it would… calm him."

"And it did not," Loki said.

"No."

"I wonder if perhaps Mordred might be a little mad," Loki suggested conversationally. "Madness sometimes takes the form of trying to force one's will upon situations and beings, however irrationally."

"You speak as one who knows," said Morgan. It was not a question. Loki inclined his head in agreement. "Yes. It is unsurprising, and much to be regretted, but… yes. There is madness within him."

"Why now?" The question was born of more than idle curiosity. If Mordred had a particular reason for wishing to return at this time, or if Morgan had one for permitting it to happen now, it might be useful to know.

"Why now?" Morgan smiled. "Because Mordred felt the presence in the realm of a sorcerer he thought might be able to help him. As did I, though I confess I did not view 'help' in exactly the same way as did my nephew."

Loki kept his face perfectly blank. "Indeed? And where should we seek this sorcerer?"

Morgan looked amused. "Do not parry words with me. Mordred will find you, and I fear he has already realized that you have no wish to assist him in his plans-- if a series of half-sane fantasies can rightly be called 'plans.'" Loki winced and knew Morgan saw it. She offered no comment, merely went on gently, "He will be very angry. He will be angrier when he realizes no further help is forthcoming from me. Do not underestimate the power he has accumulated, but I would be grateful if he did not come to any more harm than that which he will visit upon himself."

Her apparent faith in Loki's abilities did not inspire as much confidence as he would have liked, but there was no time to argue before Morgan disappeared.

Well, he would have to see the looks on everyone else's faces eventually. It was as well to get it over with as quickly as possible. Loki turned to face the rest of the group.

"Something you're not telling us, Loki?" Stark asked with a smirk. Loki was almost sure Stark was merely teasing him, but it was not pleasant to be the target of such banter under the eye of Nick Fury. Also, Loki did not quite resist the urge to flick a nervous glance at Thor. His brother did not meet his eyes, but addressed Stark sharply:

"If you are attempting to insinuate that Loki is allied with Mordred-- "

"-- I don't need to, big guy, because you're doing it for me," Stark practically sang. Loki wondered whether the Iron Man truly had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Annie was suddenly between Stark and Thor, who glanced down at her and began to look ashamed of his temper.

"Really, Stark, there's a time and a place," Steve said wearily. Stark glanced at the others and, as they began walking down the path again, changed the subject.

"Does it strike anyone else that Ms Le Fay was a little… cavalier… about the fate of the world? Just letting Mordred loose like that?"

"I don't know," Steve objected, which made Loki wonder whether the natural state of these two was to bicker. Steve's next words at least reassured him that Captain America was not arguing merely to hear his own voice: "It's not like he's done much of anything just yet. I mean, yeah, he attacked us when we interrupted him trying to rally the realm, and he put that curse on me, but… he might have just felt threatened, or something, when we showed up. It's not like he's done anything to us since."

Loki applauded Steve's fair-mindedness, truly he did. It was a fine quality for a hero to have.

Not being a hero himself, it was not one he shared.

"That is certainly possible," Loki said, trying not to sound patronizing. "However, the realm definitely feels a sense of threat and anger. And there was little reason for Mordred to pay much attention to us before we found Excalibur. However-- last night, both Mitchell and I experienced extremely unpleasant dreams. This may have been a coincidence, but I wonder, were we alone in that?" Glancing around, Loki noted that even Coulson was nodding. "Very well. It is possible those dreams represented Mordred's first effort to learn of our vulnerabilities. Regarding Morgan Le Fay… I, too, would not necessarily call her actions 'cavalier.' She seems to have given him the ability to revisit England in the hope he would then return to the land of the dead in peace. It is possible that she felt herself partly at fault for Mordred's fate. And perhaps she believed, or merely hoped that, given a second chance, he would not waste it."

Stark was eyeing him closely. "And everyone deserves a second chance?"

"No," Loki replied evenly. "But some of us receive one anyway." _More than one_ , he reflected, although he did not have the time right now to sit down and tally up his own.

"And not all of us waste it," Mitchell observed.

"Not all of them, at any rate," Loki murmured.

~oOoOo~

It was quite dark by the time everyone was back on the helicarrier. Since Mordred had seemed to be active mostly at night, and since there was no doubt in Loki's mind that he would be able to track Excalibur, he found himself tense until they were all back on board and around the conference table in the observation deck.

As it turned out, he relaxed a moment too soon.

"Okay," Fury began, "assuming Mordred does show up-- "

That was as far as he got before Mitchell went over the table at him.

Loki was sitting next to Mitchell, and had been half-aware of the vampire fidgeting in his chair. He even caught a whiff of rotting vegetation just before his friend leaped, but it all happened so quickly he was taken by surprise.

Very fortunately, Loki was extremely quick even under such unexpected circumstances: he managed to grab Mitchell by the belt and yank him down onto the surface of the table. As Mitchell inexplicably struggled, Loki vaulted out of his seat onto the table and pinned him.

"Mitchell, what in the Nine Realms-- ?" Loki demanded breathlessly, but the words died on his lips when Mitchell twisted underneath him and Loki saw blackened eyes and snarling fangs rising toward his face. The two crashed off the table onto the floor in a tangle of chairs, Mitchell on top. Loki's concern for his friend was at least matched by his adrenaline-fueled awareness of the fangs at his jugular. Loki got a hand on Mitchell's throat, and held him at his long arm's length with all his strength as Mitchell clawed at him, hissing incomprehensibly.

Not quite incomprehensibly: for a second the black of his eyes receded back to wide-eyed, terrified brown. Mitchell looked up at the others and pleaded, " _Stop me!_ " before his whole body jerked and his eyes went black again. As Annie screamed his name and grabbed him by the shoulder, Mitchell turned on her with a snarl.

Logically, Loki knew there was absolutely nothing Mitchell could do to harm a ghost. Logically, he knew that was why Annie was trying to draw Mitchell's attention in the first place. Logic had nothing to do with anything as he braced himself and yanked Mitchell away from her, then twisted sideways in an effort to protect his throat. Tears streaming down his face, Mitchell lunged.

And he was gone. Loki rolled onto his hands and knees and looked up to see Steve and Thor dragging Mitchell across the room, Mitchell struggling and hissing, looking simultaneously murderous and terrified. Thor extended a hand for Mjolnir, which flew to him. He then very carefully used the hammer to pin Mitchell to the floor, where he writhed helplessly, like a half-crushed insect. His eyes kept going from predatory black, back to their normal brown, back to predatory. It was abundantly clear that whatever was happening to him was not under his control.

Loki knew _exactly_ how it felt to be trapped under the weight of the great hammer, and even had he not loved Mitchell he would have felt very sorry for him. He fell to his knees next to his friend, Annie beside him, and on the other side George grabbed Mitchell's hand.

"Mitchell, calm down," Annie pleaded. Mitchell snarled at her, looked bewildered, snarled again.

"What in the hell-- ?" Fury demanded. Loki gestured and he fell silent. Even in the middle of the situation, George gave him a wide-eyed look and asked, "Did you-- ?"

"Yes," Loki replied shortly. He would deal with the repercussions of hexing Fury later. With any luck, Mordred would not kill him before Fury had the chance. Now, he placed his hands on Mitchell's head and held it, forcing Mitchell to look into his eyes. "Mitchell. Listen to me. This is not real. Mitchell." Mitchell's eyes focused momentarily on Loki's face, flickered again, and then stayed brown. Loki managed a smile. "It's all right."

"I lost control... I'm always so afraid that I'll... that I'll lose control," Mitchell whispered.

"I know," Loki assured him. "Mordred's weapon is fear. This is not you."

"Are you-- " Stark hesitated, looked at the silently apoplectic Fury, decided to risk it, and went on, "Are you saying Mordred did this to him?"

"Almost certainly," Loki said grimly. George patted Mitchell's hand helplessly. Loki looked up. "Is there anywhere on this vessel where Mitchell can be secure?" Fury raised his eyebrows. "Oh, excuse me," Loki murmured, and snapped his fingers. Even with the spell removed Fury was apparently still incapable of speech, so Coulson replied imperturbably,

"If you mean a cell, there are several."

Loki looked down at Mitchell. "Is this acceptable to you? You can be secured, so that you will not come to harm, or be able to inadvertently harm anyone else."

"Yes," Mitchell whispered, and it was impossible to tell whether he was so breathless as a result of the weight on his chest, or panic.

"Very well," Loki said soothingly. "Thor and Steve will transport you. This may be the end of it, but even if you have another... episode... you need not worry about harming anyone else." Mitchell nodded, and Loki turned to Annie. "Would you remain with him?'

Annie nodded. "Sure," she said, covering Mitchell's other hand with her own.

"Good," Loki said, smiled reassuringly at Mitchell again, and rose to his feet. "George, will you please stay with Mitchell and Annie? Not, of course, within the same cell, but if there is some way you can be near enough to have access to them-- ?"

"Done," Coulson replied. "Come with me," he addressed Thor and Steve. Thor gingerly removed Mjolnir and he and Steve each took a firm grip on one of Mitchell's arms and helped him to his feet. Mitchell remained shaken and compliant, perfectly willing for the two Avengers to hold onto him in case he did anything frightening again. Coulson gestured to the group to follow him and left the room.

Fury glanced at Stark, who had respectfully opted to remain in civilian clothes rather than wear his iron suit into the midst of the magic field. "You get suited up, I'll go sound the alarm and speak to the captain. Loki, take a look around and see if he's still here."

Loki, conscious of being addressed as if he was simply part of the team, nodded. As they left the room Fury and Stark turned left up the corridor, so Loki went to the right.

Walked down the corridor and around a corner.

Encountered one of SHIELD's uniformed guards, holding a pulse rifle at the ready and looking distressed.

Loki opened his mouth to speak, then realized that, since the alarm had not been sounded, there was no reason for the guard to know about the enemy aboard unless--

A figure in a green cloak materialized behind the guard as the man fired a bolt of energy directly into Loki's chest. The world went sparkling-bright, and then black.


	13. Chapter 13

As consciousness returned to him, Loki could feel that he was sitting up, pinioned to a chair, wrists and ankles immobilized. The position was familiar, as was the sensation of giddy weakness, not to mention the cold finger of claustrophobic dread that immediately tingled up his spine. It took all the self-control his dazed mind could muster not to panic and struggle, but Loki was an old hand, as the mortals would say. This was not the first time he had been in a tight spot. If he was to have any chance of getting himself out of this mess, to say nothing of helping his companions, he needed to keep his wits about him.

His head was bowed and he permitted his eyelids to slit open, just enough to show him a slice of the world through a hedge of eyelashes. Yes, he was back in the restraints, all right. By the way he felt, he had been in them for some time. Excalibur still pulsed in the scabbard at his side, apparently immune to SHIELD's technology.

"Do not pretend you are not awake," a voice hissed from close range. Loki suppressed any reaction, for of course he knew he could not be alone. He blinked a time or two and attempted to raise his head enough to see the speaker. A large hand, presumably that of the bewitched guard, grabbed him from behind by the hair and jerked his head upright-- the room danced and bobbed before his eyes for a moment, then settled down enough for Loki to focus.

Sitting across the table from him, a scrawny figure in a rough tunic and green cloak, dark hair matted and gray eyes burning, was Mordred. Based on TH White's account, Loki had expected him to be blond. He did not look much like any sort of a ruler, although of course Midgardian standards of both fashion and hygiene had changed a great deal in fifteen hundred years. Loki was not quite so stupid as to make personal remarks about someone who looked as though he would take the greatest of pleasure in killing him.

Well, not when he was bound to a chair and completely defenseless, at any rate.

However, that did not mean he was in any way inclined to be meek.

"I would offer to shake hands," Loki said politely, "but, as you see, I am somewhat indisposed."

Mordred's eyes took on a flat glitter, and he leaned forward. "Do not mock me," he warned. "I am not a man to be trifled with."

"Oh, no," Loki replied, with all the sincerity he could fake. "I would not dream of it."

"I believe you have something of mine," Mordred said now, in a purring murmur that did not so much alarm Loki as remind him of villains in Mitchell's favourite films about Mr. James Bond. The remark told Loki something important: Mordred had apparently not made any effort to take Excalibur while Loki was unconscious. Had he done so, he would have been foiled by the protective spells and would be demanding now that Loki remove them, not making preliminary statements like this.

That gave Loki an insight into Mordred that might be very useful. Morgan Le Fay had told Loki that Mordred knew he was a sorcerer, and knew now there was no help to be had from him. The practical course, and the one Loki suspected he would have favoured himself, would have been to slit Loki's throat while he was unconscious and take the sword-- well, try to take the sword. The rather more merciful option, the one Thor might have chosen, would have been to take the sword, then truss Loki in the restraints and leave him to eventually be found by the others, after presumably using magic to temporarily confuse them.

Again, Mordred could not simply take Excalibur and walk away, not unless he could break the wards. But he spoke as though he had not even tried.

And that indicated that Mordred not only wanted to win out over Loki-- he wanted Loki to _know he had been beaten_. With an opponent like that, one at least had a chance: to stall for time, to throw him off-balance, to trick him into accepting some sort of challenge. A practical opponent would have focused on what he was trying to accomplish, but Mordred had too much to prove to be practical. That gave Loki a chance, if not to survive, then at least to disrupt Mordred's plans and give the others a chance to stop him.

The Mordred depicted in _The Candle In the Wind_ was insecure, resentful, a toadying stirrer of trouble. If he was in the mood to be honest with himself, Loki would admit that Mordred sounded very familiar indeed. This was hardly the time to abuse himself for failings he liked to believe he had managed to mostly overcome, but he thought that insight could be helpful to him.

For instance, though Mordred had warned Loki not to trifle with him, Loki now suspected that might actually be his best course. Admittedly, Loki was not inclined to beg an enemy for mercy even if he thought it would work, but he now thought the best plan was to make Mordred angry enough to want to prove to Loki what he could do. This might well end in Mordred killing him anyway, eventually, but it would buy time for the others to organize themselves. Even if Loki was dead, Thor could wield Excalibur, and George could advise him, and they could still defeat Mordred.

Accordingly, he flicked a glance downward, toward the sword slung across his shoulder, resting against his hip. "Be my guest," he offered, letting his lips curve into the smirk that centuries' worth of adversaries had itched to backhand from his face.

Mordred looked suspicious for a second, seemed to remind himself that his prisoner was helpless, and gestured to the ensorcelled guard standing behind Loki. The hands let go of his head, which drooped annoyingly forward like the film character who had been mostly dead all day. He couldn't see exactly what the other was doing, but he felt hands fumbling with growing frustration at the baldric supporting Excalibur. Across the table, Mordred watched with rising irritation, then snapped,

"Leave it, fool," and rose from his chair. As he bent next to his prisoner, diffusing a smell of rotting greenery, Loki tried not to breathe through his nose and wondered whether a personal remark might actually be useful at the moment, or would simply frustrate Mordred enough to lash out.

He was frustrated enough when he realized his hands simply passed through both the baldric and Excalibur itself. The first couple of tries should have convinced him he could not take the sword from Loki, but he continued to try for long enough to make it clear he was thinking even less rationally than Loki had imagined. Even raving mad, Loki had been able to adjust his iniquitous plans to suit the developing situation, at least up until the point when madness had been all there was to him.

There was, he supposed, a difference in the cases: Loki had spent half his life festering in jealous rivalry toward Thor, but it had always been liberally, confusingly, mixed with love and the wish to honestly earn favour instead of steal it. And he certainly had not been egged on by his mother or father, at least not intentionally.

When his mind snapped, it had happened in the aftermath of multiple blows he had not had the resources to deal with and, in the crisis, madness had spiked like a fever and then burned itself out of him. One of the reasons he had let himself fall from the wreckage of the first Bifrost was, with the return of his sanity, he had recognized the impossibility of ever being forgiven for or brought back from the things he had done.

Although forgiveness had, in fact, eventually been extended. As he had said to Tony Stark, one does not necessarily have to deserve another chance in order to be given one.

Loki's madness had been an acute illness, attacking rapidly and then passing away. Mordred's seemed to be chronic, which made sense when one considered the hatred he had been raised with, the knowledge of the crime committed against him as an infant, and the resentment and anger he had apparently kept as his companions for fifteen hundred years in the land of the dead.

Loki was not especially inclined toward mercy-- he honestly admired the trait in others, despite the fact it could get in the way of accomplishing necessary goals, but he did not consider it part of his own short list of virtues. But he truly felt compassion for Mordred now, understanding exactly what it felt like to be trapped in a mind that spun and twisted, trying to accomplish something both impossible and indefensible.

It was compassion that caused Loki to make what he knew perfectly well was a tactical error when Mordred stepped back and shouted, "Remove the spell! Give me that sword. It was my father's, and is mine by right of inheritance."

Abandoning all smirking provocation, Loki said quietly, "The sword does not belong to you, nor did it ever truly belong to your father. It was a lending only, and was returned to the realm. Even if you could wield it, its power could never be yours, because it has not been given to you." If he could only see this, if he could only accept it, there might be a chance--

Mordred's response was predictable: he struck the blow Loki had earned earlier with his smirk, hitting him across the face with all the strength he had. Loki's head snapped sideways on his unsteady neck, leaving him on the blurry edge of consciousness. Apparently, Mordred retained sense enough to recognize this, because he refrained from striking again, allowing his prisoner to recover sufficient clarity to listen to him.

"Do not presume to tell me what has or has not been given to me," Mordred raged. "All that I have is what I have been able to take, and this has ever been so. Do not speak to me of what 'truly' belongs to me or to my father."

Loki, blood running from his nose, pushed back. "There comes a time when you can only accept what is or is not, Mordred. Railing against what is will not help you."

Mordred gestured and the hand from behind pulled Loki's head upright again, causing the blood from his nose to drain into his throat but permitting him to see Mordred's face. The gray eyes were filled with tears of madness, impotent rage, and centuries of heartbreak. Loki found himself wishing he could move simply so he could throw his arms around Mordred and... and embrace some sense into him. The impulse was not rational, and Loki was perfectly aware it would probably not work, but had he been free he would certainly have tried it.

Mordred stared at him for a moment, mind obviously whirling. Then he went very still.

"You have spoken to my mother's sister, Morgan Le Fay," he said, and his expression was that of one who realizes he has been betrayed yet again. Loki immediately knew his prospects for getting out of this alive had just decreased drastically, and also that there was no point at all in trying to lie.

"I have," Loki replied. "She cares for you, Mordred. She does not want harm to come to you." There was little chance this would have any effect on Mordred's state of mind, but it was the kind of thing he should be aware of, whether he was capable of believing it or not.

Mordred leaned close into Loki's face and hissed, "Do not speak. Stop talking." He paused, and then his lips curved into a cruel smirk of his own. "In fact, I will stop you myself." He extended his hand and suddenly there was a ball of heavy black thread and a thick, wickedly-pointed needle in it.

Loki tried not to suck in a ragged breath as he remembered the terror of his dream and imagined the utter helplessness of being not only bound and powerless, but unable even to speak. Even the fact he was sure Mordred would leave him alive to experience the terror was not much comfort.

He was apparently not quite able to suppress all traces of alarm, because Mordred's expression reflected the satisfaction of at least passing some of his pain on to another. It was an expression Loki remembered well from the inside.

"Of course," Mordred remarked, "I will need assistance, since you cannot possibly be expected to remain still for this. Perhaps you would like to know who has been helping me so far." He gestured, and the hand that held Loki's hair let go, so that his head fell forward with sickening abruptness. Loki could feel someone moving around the chair he was bound to, and he registered familiar-looking boots in his line of vision just before a hand was placed under his chin and his head forced up again.

To find himself looking, instead of the face of some unknown guard, into the dull-eyed and clearly ensorcelled face of his brother.

Loki's heart jerked so violently that he almost gasped, and Mordred's spiteful smirk grew wider. Thor's expression did not change, and he barely looked at Mordred when his master ordered him to return to his previous post and hold Loki's head still. A moment later, a pair of large hands took hold of Loki's head from behind, the heels of his hands pressing into Loki's temples, palms covering his cheeks and fingers curling underneath his jaw to hold his head still and his mouth mostly closed.

And, Loki realized with profound relief, the hands were wrong: too cool, not calloused, _not_ his brother's. This was not Thor, it was that same poor guard under a shapeshifting spell. Of course it was: no enchantment had the power to make Thor do something so utterly alien to his own character as what Mordred intended. Not to _anyone_ , and _certainly_ not to the brother Thor defended and protected so resolutely. Given a moment to think on it, Loki would have realized it without the evidence of the hands.

If he simply told Mordred he did not believe in this Thor, the other would assume Loki was merely comforting himself. Instead, he tried a little test.

"Oh really, brother," Loki said, with what probably looked like forced bravado, "this is worse than the time you left me on Muspelheim in the form of a rabbit."

"It was your own doing," the false Thor said dully. The correct response was, "Do not be so silly, brother, no such thing ever happened." Loki, figuring things could hardly get much worse anyway, did not bother to suppress a glint of triumph as he looked up at Mordred.

"Nice try," he taunted, borrowing the Midgardian colloquialism. For a moment he thought Mordred would hit him again.

Instead, the sorcerer snarled at him, and the hands on Loki's head turned back into those of the bewitched guard.

"Enjoy your small triumph while you can," Mordred advised viciously. "You will soon have little enough to say."

Then he threaded his ugly needle and went to work.

Having his lips sewn together was far from the most painful thing that had ever happened to Loki. Indeed, it was not even the most painful thing that had happened to him _recently_ , since his not-too-distant past included having his throat ripped open by vampires and a wooden stake being driven through his left lung.

However, that was not to say it did not hurt a great deal: lips are sensitive structures, the needle and thread were obviously intended for crude sewing on roughly-spun garments, and Mordred made every effort not to be gentle. Loki, half-choked anyway on blood from his nose, clenched his teeth and eyes shut but still felt tears squeezing through his lids. It was not so much he was weeping as that his eyes were watering from the pain, and he accepted that as an involuntary physical reaction.

What he could control was whether he made any noise, so he clamped down with all his remaining pride on the urge to whimper. Just when he thought, with the beginnings of relief, that Mordred was finished, the needle pierced him again and Loki realized his attacker was going back the other way, neatly crossing his stitches. Loki clung grimly to consciousness, knowing if he fainted he would surely drown in his own blood.

He had long since forgotten his original goal of distracting Mordred to give his companions a chance to mount a counter-attack. He remembered it only when, at the edges of awareness, he heard the _whoosh_ of the cell door opening, a roar of rage that meant his real brother was really here, and the hoarse sound of a pulse rifle firing. The hands on his head were torn away, and Mordred's on his mouth vanished at the same moment.

Loki opened his streaming eyes and blinked rapidly. When his vision cleared, he saw Thor and Agent Coulson before him, Thor cradling his chin in a rough, warm, blessedly familiar hand and looking at him in horrified concern.

"It's all right, Loki, you are safe now. Coulson, go release the restraints. He will be able to remove the stitches with magic once he is free, won't you, brother?" Loki nodded as well as he could with his chin in Thor's grasp. "Coulson, hurry."

"No," Coulson said calmly, looking up from his examination of the unconscious guard. Loki felt his eyes widen, and Thor opened his mouth to repeat his suggestion more forcefully. Coulson stood, shaking his head. "No. Remember the last time? It was two hours before he could stand up straight, let alone use magic. We're not leaving him in this condition for another minute. Besides, if there's magic in the thread, it'll be easier to deal with if the restraints are draining it, too."

Coulson's words made sense, except of course he had forgotten that Loki could call upon the magic of Excalibur to help him. Apparently, Thor had as well. In the current situation, Loki was not exactly capable of complicated explanations, so he gave in. Coulson reached into his pocket and produced his little red folding knife. Loki heard himself make an inarticulate noise of protest-- one does not _saw_ through stitches-- but the sound died in his throat as Coulson unfolded what turned out to be a pair of sharp little scissors from the body of the knife.

The agent pulled up the second chair and Thor turned Loki's so they faced each other. "Thor, you hold his head steady. I'll be as careful as I can. Okay?" Coulson's eyes met Loki's. He waited for the nod of assent, and then for Thor to take up his position.

"Careful" was apparently as close as the impassive agent could come to promising to be gentle. Which he was, delicately snipping the stitches and then clipping the thread close to the skin. There turned out to be a pair of tweezers built into the little folding knife as well, and Coulson used them to pull the ends of the thread free, reaching carefully into Loki's mouth to take hold of them from the inside. That process hurt enough to start Loki's eyes watering again, but he managed to keep quiet. He was not quite able to stop himself from trying to pull away. Thor wiped the tears away with his thumbs and murmured soothingly as he held Loki's head still.

"Okay. Done," Coulson said, putting the tweezers back where they belonged and handing Thor a clean, folded handkerchief, which Thor carefully pressed to Loki's bleeding mouth. Coulson looked over at the guard, who was sitting up by now leaning against the wall, decided he was in no condition to perform errands, and left the cell himself, carrying the pulse rifle in one hand.

A few minutes later, the restraints opened and Thor lifted Loki bodily out of the chair. Loki got his arms around his brother's neck and held himself upright as Thor patted his back.

"We must take you to the barracks until your strength is restored," Thor fussed. Loki patted his brother's chest, then unsteadily pushed away from him.

"Have I ever told you how much you remind me of Mother?" Loki asked, words mumbling painfully through his torn lips. "I mean that in the most affectionate manner possible."

Coulson came jogging back into the cell, accompanied by two more uniformed guards.

"You going to be okay, Loki? You had better lie down or something, we can leave you guarded-- "

Loki made a face at Coulson that represented his effort to smile without moving his lips. Then he lifted Excalibur out of the scabbard.

"Oh, right," Coulson said, looking disgusted with himself. Thor made a face of his own, the one that meant he felt like an idiot. Loki had always loved to see him make that face.

It took all Loki's remaining strength to lift the sword, and then he felt magic flowing through his body. The light-headedness went away first, followed by the weakness, and then he was able to focus on the wounds in his lips, concentrating on healing them. Between Excalibur's power and the fact the injuries were painful, but not serious, he was healed almost immediately.

"Well, that was a lot easier than what I did to you," Coulson remarked apologetically.

"I appreciate the care you took," Loki assured him, which was true. It was worth the extra discomfort, really, to have Coulson exhibit such concern. "And besides, you were probably right about the magical status of the thread, which might indeed have presented a problem. Is everyone else all right? What about the guard Mordred ensorcelled?"

"We'll have him looked at. Things are in a hell of a mess, all the surveillance cameras are screwed up and he seems to have messed with most of the guards' minds. It took us longer than it should have to realize nobody had seen you and start looking for you. Sorry about that." Coulson looked disgusted. "Anyway, when we busted in Mordred disappeared, the cowardly little-- and I had to blast Renfield there a little to make him let go of you. Can you tell whether Mordred is still on the ship?"

Loki shook his head. "At the moment I am afraid I am experiencing a real jumble of magical influences, and nothing is clear to me. However, Mordred did realize I had spoken to his aunt, Morgan Le Fay, and it made him extremely angry. I suspect he intended to sew up my lips regardless, but he did it with perhaps a little extra spite after that realization."

Coulson whistled. "Do you think he'll go after her?"

Loki shrugged. "It seems likely. Since she appears to be the source of his power in the first place, she may be able to take it away from him again, but I am not certain of that. It appears to me in character that she would give, rather than lend, power, for him to do with as he will."

"So you think she might be in trouble?" Coulson persisted.

"It is not so much that I think she is, as that I am not at all happy at the idea of Mordred having a magical tantrum in a site as powerful as Avalon. Particularly since Avalon probably represents yet another distinct type of magic, and may not reject Mordred's efforts to control it as the realm's did." The more he thought about the situation, the worse Loki liked it.

"So we should betake ourselves to Glastonbury Tor without delay," Thor said. Loki nodded. Thor looked embarrassed. "Would you object-- it may be difficult for you to find a shape that enables you to fly while carrying Excalibur-- I was thinking-- "

Loki took a moment to decode his brother's stammering. "Are you asking whether I would object to you carrying me? I think, under the circumstances, I will not stand upon my dignity, brother."

Thor looked relieved, then reached out and unexpectedly touched Loki's jaw with a gentle hand. "I do wish we had time for you to wash your face."

Loki had almost forgotten about the blood drying around his mouth. "Remind me to do that before we rejoin my housemates, will you?"

And then he ran after his brother to the flight deck of the helicarrier.

~oOoOo~

The flight to Glastonbury Tor was brief, but gave Loki time to deliver a warning to his brother:

"Remember, Mordred uses our fears against us. I believe the dreams he has visited upon us have enabled him to learn something of... what lurks in the dark for each of us. In Mitchell's case I believe he did hit upon his greatest fear, because that cannot ever be far from the surface. In mine-- " Loki stumbled over his words, lest he let too much out, then finished awkwardly, "It was probably not the worst thing that could have happened to me, but I really am afraid of those restraints. And I had a perfectly dreadful dream about lip-sewing, probably as a result of Stark speaking of it while I was imprisoned that first day."

The detail about Thor's role he kept to himself. That had merely been an ugly fantasy Mordred mistook for a genuine fear. Not for a moment had Loki really believed Thor would do such a thing to him. He resolutely did not think about the aftermath of the dream, when he had eavesdropped partly because he did not want to directly encounter Thor yet.

"I will remember that, brother," Thor assured him. Loki allowed himself a moment to wonder what Mordred could do to a being who, as far as Loki knew, was afraid of absolutely nothing. Then he forgot it as Thor went on, "I should also make clear: Heimdall will not intervene to help us, if things go badly."

"I never expected he would," Loki assured him. It was not the Guardian's role, to rescue them from situations of their own making. He had done so, once, for Loki, for reasons Loki still did not completely understand, but Loki had the sense to be grateful while not ever expecting a repetition.

And then they were landing on the summit of Glastonbury Tor. They separated to look for anything that might indicate Mordred's presence. Loki started down the terrace in the direction from which Morgan Le Fay had approached them.

Once again, Loki could sense a jumble of magical influences, but was unable to pick Mordred out of the clutter. He was casting about for the entrance to the faery world of which George had spoken when he heard, distantly, his brother's voice. He could not make out words, but Thor sounded distressed. Loki, heart beating faster, turned to look up the tor.

And saw Thor, standing perfectly still, hands at his sides, facing a figure that had to have been conjured by Mordred: a tall, thin figure in green-and-bronze armor and an elaborate horned helmet.

Just for a moment, Loki really felt like crying. What was the _point_ \-- ? Why should he even _try_ to earn back the trust of others, when it was so clearly impossible, when not even Thor could ever forget, when the thing his courageous brother turned out to fear was-- ?

Loki knew that Mordred was not to be trusted, but he also knew the fears he used to torment his victims were real, drawn from their minds and hearts. And here was Thor, facing what had to be one of his very few fears--

\-- And it was, of course, a vision of Loki, Loki at his worst, Loki raving mad and evil. Loki, the brother Thor loved but would never, ever trust again.

Loki drew a sharp breath and stopped himself before self-pity could take a further hold on him. Of course he was not trusted, at least not yet. It had not been so very long, after all, since he had done everything possible to prove himself untrustworthy. He had _killed_ Thor-- it was hardly unfair that Thor should, deep in his heart, retain reservations about Loki's intentions, about truly believing in his change of heart and mind.

And yet, despite all that, Thor had charged into the holding cell on that first day, insisting that Loki be freed. He had defended Loki's person, and his intentions, to the others, had comforted him during the removal of the stitches, had worried for him when he disappeared for those three days...

Loki had spent centuries loving a family he did not believe returned his affection, had loved them despite his conviction their hearts were elsewhere. He had loved them, but he had not trusted them. He had eventually been convinced he was wrong, not in the affection, but in the doubt. Was he really going to hold it against Thor, that he felt the same mixture of love and misgiving? Particularly since the source of his doubt was not the imaginings of an oversensitive mind, but the _fact_ of what Loki had _actually done?_

No. This was no time for self-pity. This was time to go help his brother. Loki started back up the hill at a run.

As he came closer, he could see the tears on the face of the illusion, could almost feel the twist of its lips as it spewed bitter, angry words. He could see the pain and helplessness on Thor's face.

And then he was close enough to actually hear what the illusion was saying.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is set in Movieverse. A number of deleted scenes from the movie have recently been released, and I want to make clear that, in terms of this story, I mostly conform to my interpretation of what was in the theatrical release, which shows two brothers who have lost each other over the years, so one has become arrogant while the other is lonely and angry. As far as I am concerned, most of the deleted scenes really never happened. Except for the one, between Loki and Frigga, which I think goes a long way to explain some of the extremes of Loki's behaviour. So as far as I am concerned, that one did happen, and it comes up in this chapter.

The real Loki involuntarily came to a halt as the false Loki dropped its weapon and stepped forward, gesturing as though inviting Thor to strike it.

"Go ahead!" the illusion shouted tearfully. "You know that you want to!"

"Loki, please," Thor said abjectly, apparently completely taken in by his own terrible fantasy. "That is not true. You know it is not."

" _Do not lie to me_ ," the false Loki snarled, still weeping. "You know the truth, know you never loved me, if you had you would not have abandoned me on Svartelfheim, would have seen how alone I always was, would have cared as much for my feelings as the admiration of your friends. _Don't lie to me_."

Loki knew he should be doing something, but he could not for the moment think what. _This_ was what Thor was afraid of?

Thor tried again, by now nearly as tearful as the illusion:

"Please, Loki, you must believe me. I know I have not always shown it. I know I have been thoughtless and selfish, have not always considered your feelings. I... I did not mean it."

The illusion was shaking its head, tears still streaming down its face, mouth twisted in hurt and anger. "Oh, no. You won't catch me that way again. Not after all those years I spent showing you loyalty, supporting your follies, trying to win your love and getting only heartbreak in return. How _stupid_ do you think I am?"

And Thor should have been stung by this, because really, it was unjust, but instead he replied humbly,

"I know it, I know I don't deserve another chance, I have seen you wondering when I will turn on you again, but I won't, I promise, I'm _sorry_ …"

The real Loki suddenly recovered his wits. Mordred had not snared Thor like this simply for his own amusement: he was planning something.

Loki started forward again, heart thumping. "Thor, no. Don't listen to him. It's not _real_. Thor, _please!_ "

He had covered about half the distance between himself and his brother when Mordred revealed what he intended: he appeared behind the distraught false Loki, sword in hand. Mordred lunged at the illusion, and without hesitation Thor swept out an arm to push the false Loki out of the way, presenting an undefended side to Mordred.

There was no way Mordred should have been able to pierce Thor's armor. He did not appear to have the strength.

And yet the sword was suddenly buried to the hilt in Thor's chest.

Loki screamed his brother's name, and then he just screamed, and then he was almost flying up the slope with Excalibur in his hand and Mordred was turning on him with a triumphantly spiteful smirk on his face as he dragged his blade free. Thor made a terrible, breathless little noise as he dropped to his knees, and Loki recovered his sanity because he didn't have _time_ , Mordred was a distraction he could not afford to indulge right now, not when Thor was falling forward with frothy blood bubbling on his lips.

Loki dropped his guard for a moment as his attention went to his brother, and Mordred struck, lunging forward with his blade, red with Thor's blood, aimed at Loki's heart.

It was hard to say which of them was more surprised when the point glanced off Loki's t-shirt and deflected harmlessly to one side. Loki was startled enough to actually look at the blade first, before glancing up at Mordred, whose face first registered blank shock and then twisted in fury.

"The _scabbard_ ," he hissed. "Where did you get the _scabbard?_ "

Loki took advantage of Mordred's momentary lapse in concentration to position himself between the other sorcerer and Thor, who was lying terribly still but at least gasping for breath. Gasping for breath was good. Gasping for breath meant he was alive. Loki knew a spell for healing. He did not know one for resurrection.

"It came with the sword," Loki replied stupidly.

"She threw it _away!_ " Mordred shouted, stabbed at Loki again. This time Loki was able to parry the thrust, which made Mordred laugh, a shrill hysterical sound that would have grated on Loki's nerves, if there had been anything left of them at this point. "You need not worry, you cannot be injured while you wear that scabbard. She threw it _away_ , Morgan threw it away, how did it come to be in your possession?"

"It was given to me by the Lady," Loki replied, and remembered her passing comment that the scabbard, too, had powers, and why had he not _asked_ about them, he could have given Excalibur to Thor to carry, if he had only asked Thor to carry the sword he would have had the scabbard, would be safe right now, not lying on the ground choking on his own bubbling blood--

"It has been returned to her by Morgan," Mordred decided, his eyes once again filling with tears of bitterness and lunacy. "She said she would help me, and instead she deceives me-- "

Goaded beyond endurance by the self-pitying whine, Loki lost his temper and slashed at Mordred, who parried with unexpected skill and stepped backward, expression triumphant.

He looked… he looked _stronger_ than he had a moment ago.

 _If you meet him in the same heart and spirit as he engages you, he will prevail._ Those had been the Lady's words, when she gave Excalibur to Loki. Had Mordred actually fed on the fear and anger in Loki's stroke? It certainly looked that way.

And he had no _time_ for this, for this nonsense, for coddling Mordred's insane sensibilities while Thor died at his feet. Mentally apologizing to the Lady, Loki drew back his arm and cast Excalibur as far from him as he could. He heard the sound of the sword striking the path and tumbling away into the darkness, and Mordred was still not lucid enough to realize nothing had changed, he still could not take the sword, because he dashed after it like a dog after a thrown ball, there was something desperately pitiful as well as ludicrous about that, and then Loki forgot him as he turned around, falling to his knees beside his brother.

"Hold on hold on look at me Thor please look at me hold on," Loki heard himself babbling, relieved beyond words to see his brother's face screwed up in agony instead of slack and empty. He slid a hand under Thor's head to support it, looked up to see where Mordred had gotten to--

\-- And saw a light approaching them from the ruined tower.

And really, this was too much, Loki would have very strong words for Morgan if she intended to speak to him in riddles at such a time--

The light came near, but did not resolve into a recognizable form. Instead, behind it, there was a glow in the curve of the hill. The entrance to the land of the faeries?

Or to the land of the dead?

"What is this?" he asked, a little shocked at the wavery desperation in his own voice.

 _"Sanctuary,"_ said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

It was possible that if he took his brother in there, they would emerge a hundred years from now to find the Avengers dead and gone of old age, and Mordred in charge of the realm. George might be dead, Annie and Mitchell might have forgotten Loki entirely.

Despite a stab of pain at the idea of losing his housemates, Loki saw these possibilities as a perfectly acceptable trade. He took a desperate grip on Thor's shoulders and began to drag his brother toward the glowing portal. Thor's heavy body seemed heavier than ever, a deadweight, and Loki winced every time his brother's lolling head banged into the ground. Loki heard himself whispering, "I'm sorry I'm sorry" over and over as he clutched and tugged and adjusted his weight for better footing.

And then they were through the portal, which flickered shut behind them, inside a small cave, dimly lit by what appeared to be phosphorescence on the stone walls. The sensation of magic was not as strong as Loki would have expected, but he did not stop to worry about that because he could tell by the sound of Thor's breathing that he was nearly out of time. The entrance wound was under Thor's right arm, and the blade had emerged halfway down his back, just to one side of the spine. Loki clamped his right hand over the wound under the arm, shifted Thor's weight as well as he could and slid his left underneath to find the other. Thor did not seem to notice as he was jostled, and Loki forbade the useless tears that welled in his eyes.

He could do this. He could, he knew this spell, had used it before, he just needed to concentrate, to clear his mind of everything except a mental picture of the vessels and structures within his brother's body healing themselves, his lungs and arteries and his _heart_ , which was apparently breaking already with self-recrimination and regret and why had Loki not _seen_ \--

\-- And it was not the time for that. He could apologize later, beg forgiveness for not realizing, make it up to Thor somehow. But Thor had to be alive for him to do that, and the only one who could save him was Loki, and so Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then conjured up the picture he needed to work with.

It seemed to take a long time, much longer than it had when he had healed George's torn throat. It made sense considering the drastic nature of Thor's injuries, but Loki was beginning to feel desperate by the time the picture completed itself, everything as it should be, healthy and whole, and blood was no longer seeping between his fingers or frothing from Thor's lips. Loki drew back, trembling violently with exhaustion and emotion, and studied his brother's face.

Thor looked… peaceful. Not the slack-featured emptiness that passes for peace in those who are dead, but genuinely slumbering. His chest rose and fell regularly and the sound of his breathing was steady and deep.

Alone as he was, Loki did not even try to suppress the sob of relief that escaped him. Then he wrapped his arms around his brother and scooted himself backward until he was sitting up against the wall, Thor's back pressed against Loki's chest and head leaning into Loki's shoulder. Had anyone else been present, he would have justified the posture on the grounds that he was the conduit of magic, and he needed to hold Thor in order to direct whatever healing forces he could capture into his weakened brother. It would even have been true, in a way.

It was not remotely the reason Loki was doing it, and he might even have admitted as much to a carefully-selected small group of witnesses. They were both covered in Thor's blood, and yet Thor was not dead, and for the moment all Loki wanted to do was press his cheek against his brother's hair and be grateful.

After what seemed like a very long time, Thor stirred.

"Loki?" he asked, in a sleep-roughened voice.

"I am here," Loki replied, and perhaps he sniffled a little, because Thor said dazedly,

"Are you… are you all right?"

"Of course I am," Loki replied, voice trembling in spite of himself, because after all this the first thing Thor worried about was _Loki_ \--

"Are you crying?" Thor asked. Distantly, Loki could hear a teasing note trying to come back to his brother's voice, and his throat closed entirely.

"Of course not," Loki gulped, breath hitching.

Pause.

"Liar," Thor said affectionately.

Loki tightened his arms, pressed his lips against the back of Thor's head. "Incurable."

Thor chuckled briefly, was silent again for a moment. Finally, he said quietly, "It was an illusion, wasn't it?"

"You mean the vision of me wearing clothing that is packed in a box in the cellar in Bristol, and a helmet Mother keeps in my old chambers in Asgard? That one? Yes, Thor, it was an illusion," Loki replied, trying to tease, trying to make Thor laugh ruefully and move on.

Instead, he just sighed. "Well, that was stupid of me."

And it occurred to Loki that he had been hearing entirely too much of that word from his brother recently. "Mordred is very good at that particular spell, and at… getting under one's guard. That hardly makes you stupid."

"Compared to you, I am," Thor replied. There was another pause. "Brother, that was your cue to say that everyone is stupid compared to you."

"Indeed," Loki replied, resting his chin on the top of Thor's head, mostly because he could. "The being who tried to destroy an entire realm and everyone on it, thinking it was the way to make Father love me. There are quite a number of words that might describe such actions, but I think we can agree that 'stupid' should figure in the list somewhere." Loki hesitated a moment, then added, "To say nothing of what I did to you."

"You were goaded," Thor replied, with such generosity that Loki squeezed his eyes shut against another flood of tears. "No, really brother. You were king. I was banished. And my friends betrayed you, and tried to bring me back to overthrow you? They did not know anything of your visit, of your-- "

"-- Lies," Loki prompted. Thor ignored his interjection.

"All they knew was that you were king, and they didn't like it, and therefore it must be right that I come back, against the edict of the Allfather and that of the lawful king, and depose you."

"Hardly lawful," Loki muttered.

"Are we going to argue this again? You egged me on, certainly, but the actions that led to my banishment were my own. I deserved my punishment, and I was no longer heir to the throne. All right, we should have been cast out together to learn our lesson-- what?"

"I'm sorry," Loki giggled, "but that just sounds like a story the Midgardians would use to make a very silly movie. With… with talking animals, quarreling and having adventures."

"Do not try to change the subject," Thor said gently. "The point is, under the circumstances, one could argue your actions were justified."

"That one would not be me," Loki muttered. "You cannot possibly be telling me I was justified in trying to _kill you?_ "

Thor shrugged. "It would not be the first time a king resorted to such an action, to avert civil war."

Loki went still. "There would have been no civil war, and both of us know it." Of course there would not. Every being on Asgard would have rallied to Thor's side at once. "I did not… do what I did, to avoid civil war. My motivations had very little to do with the good of Asgard."

Thor said nothing for what felt like a very long time. Then: "You said recently, and it is true, that we rarely speak of anything important. We did, a little, when I visited you in Bristol, but I still do not think we reached the heart of it. Can you… tell me now? It is true that pure politics would explain much of what you did, but we both know pure politics have never interested either of us overmuch."

Loki tightened his arms around Thor. "Please do not speak of this to Mother, but… I think the last straw was something she said to me."

"Mother?" Thor asked, in obvious disbelief. He shifted to try and look Loki in the face, but he still wasn't strong enough to break his brother's hold, and Loki did not want to look at Thor right now.

"Yes. She didn't realize how I, how I took her words, but… We were sitting with Father, I was still trying to understand what was happening, what I was, and… and the guards came and brought me Gungnir. I didn't understand what it meant at first, I had not… I truly had not realized that with you banished and Father in the Odinsleep, the throne would fall to me. I had not had time to think that far ahead.

"And Mother… she knew I was upset, and afraid, and she was trying to encourage me. She told me I was a good son, and said I should make Father proud." Loki paused. Thor said nothing, but incomprehension radiated from him. Loki sighed and went on, "She had never said _anything_ like that to me before, _ever_."

"But Loki, surely… surely you always knew Mother loves you," Thor protested gently.

"Yes. I mean… I thought I did. In spite of everything. That was the problem: I always knew Mother loved me _in spite of_ all my failings. I wanted her to love me the way she loves you: _because of. Because_ you are brave, and generous, and kind… I wanted her to love me _because_ I was a good son, and a good ruler, _because_ I could do what was best for Asgard. Not _in spite of_ what I am and simply because she could find room for me in her warm heart though I did not deserve it.

"And, and when I realized I was not really her son, not even Aesir, I thought it was never even love at all, it was pity, she was kind because she felt sorry for me, for the poor little creature Father brought to her, and she tried to make things better for me because she is kind, and I thought, I thought she was simply doing it again, _saying things_ out of pity, and I, I wanted her to _see_ , to see I was worthy… to see I really _was_ a good son, _her_ son.

"And Father-- as far as I knew, Father had never been proud of me in my life." Thor made a convulsive movement, and then was still, as though repressing the urge to speak, to explain things, to make things better. Loki went on, "And I thought… I thought: Father will wake. This is only temporary, but I, I can be a good ruler during my time, I can save the realm and fix everything, and when he wakes he will _know_ I am his true son, and he _will_ be proud, and… and really love me.

"But then I knew I could never let you come home, at least not while Father slept, because if you were in Asgard, even if we explained why you were removed from the succession, everyone would expect and want you to be king anyway, and they would never be satisfied with me and I would never be able to _show them_ … So I went to you and I lied, only… only as I spoke to you the lies became worse and worse, because I wanted to hurt you with lies the way I had been hurt with lies, and I forgot Father would wake, and would forgive you, and the lies would all be exposed anyway.

"And then, then Sif and the Warriors, even though they did not know it was my fault you were banished in the first place, they _assumed_ it was wrong for me to be on the throne, and they went to retrieve you, and I was so angry and so… so _desperate_ , because if you came back I would never have the chance to… and… and that was when I began to think I hated you, because if you came back I would be in your shadow again no matter what I did, and it was so _cold_ there, and I was a monster who had to _prove_ , to _show_ them I was worthy to be, to be their son, to be their friend, to be loved, and… and I was so _angry_ , and... I'm sorry, Thor. I'm so sorry. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am." Loki's voice broke-- he was vaguely surprised it had held up for so long-- and he trailed into gulping silence.

His brother was quiet for so long that Loki began to fear he had ruined everything. But then Thor said, gently, "But you realize now-- you do realize that Father has always been proud of you? And that Mother and Father… they love you, just as they love me, _in spite of_ my temper and my arrogance and my pride." Thor reached up and covered Loki's hand with his. "I don't know that anyone is ever loved _because._ Respect and pride can be earned, yes, and Mother and Father are proud of you _because_ you are so intelligent, and an accomplished sorcerer, and, in spite of everything, at heart you are loyal-- although at times you do have a spectacularly wrong-headed way of showing it. But they love you _because_ they love you. As they love me _because_ they love me, and for no other reason. I love you _because_ I love you."

Loki sniffled again, he could not help it. "If you do enough that is wrong, love can die."

"That is true. But you did not do that much."

Loki turned his hand in his brother's so he could hold Thor's. "I have always… even when I hated you, I still loved you. It was one of the things that..." _That made him go mad_. Thor was silent, and Loki realized he had concentrated on the wrong thing. "And I do know that you love me. I know it. I admit, I did not always-- "

Thor let out a huff of unamused laughter. "Nor did I, until I thought you were lost forever, and then I would have done anything, anything at all, to take it all back and have you return to us. I have been so afraid, these last few days, the way you look at me as if you expect me to turn on you and break your heart again." His grip on Loki's hand tightened. "And you are not a monster, any more than George is a monster, or Mitchell or Annie. Some of the things we believed when we were young are simply wrong. It was wrong to teach us those things."

Loki was silent a moment. Then, "You will not say anything of this to Mother?"

"No," Thor said. "It would hurt her very much, to think you were ever unsure of her love. I don't say that as a rebuke to you," Thor added hastily, holding Loki's hand tightly, "because there were misunderstandings on both sides, but it would hurt her."

And speaking of things that would hurt… "You spoke of the way I look at you-- I did not believe that you would turn on me, Thor. I was just afraid that, that _you_ were afraid I would give in to evil again."

"Oh, no. No one who watches himself so closely could ever do that. Unless… unless you are so hard on yourself, judge every little slip so harshly, that you make yourself feel you should not even try anymore. You won't do that to yourself, brother?" Loki shook his head, knew Thor could feel the motion. Thor sighed. "It hurt so, these last few days, every time something magical happened and you would cast those glances at me, looking for my reaction, afraid of what I was thinking of you, afraid I did not love you enough to really trust you. This was the first time we have been together since, since everything happened, and all I can see is what I should have seen years ago, if I had seen it then and repaired it, none of this need ever have happened. I knew it was my fault, that I was responsible, by taking you for granted and not making sure you knew you were more important to me than my friends, as much as I love them. It all began with me showing off for them, trying to demonstrate that I was the leader, the important one, and I behaved as though you had no feelings at all and would always be there for me and never notice my disrespect.

"Ever since Sif and I came to see you in Bristol, ever since you said to me that you should have been told from a baby that you were not ours by blood, because then you would at least have known why we didn't love you… I cannot stop thinking about that. How many years you trudged loyally along in my shadow and believed the whole time that I didn't care about you. And _I_ did that to you. I made you believe it, and I made my friends believe it, too, so they did not treat you any better than I did, and at least they had the excuse that they were not hurting someone they loved more than anything. And then… _then_ I had the _arrogance_ to approach the Destroyer and pretend I had no idea why you were so angry at me."

"Thor, don't," Loki murmured. "Stop."

"And let you be the only one who is allowed to learn anything from this disastrous mess? Oh, no. I told myself, I promised, if I ever could have you back as my brother I would do better, I would do things differently, I would make sure you _knew_ , and these past few days I have been so glad to have you with me again, and so grateful to have another chance even though I knew I did not deserve it, and then all I could think was that I was _still_ going about it all wrong and upsetting you and… I am so _stupid_ sometimes."

Loki shook him, as well as one can shake anyone half again their weight who has them pinned against a wall. "Stop that, Thor. I mean it. My crimes were my own doing and my own fault. My hurt feelings are no excuse."

"And my mistakes were _my_ doing," Thor said stubbornly. "And they were certainly not all innocent. You are not going to sit here and tell me pretty lies, and try to make me think you did not really feel like an outcast all those years, that it didn't hurt you to be passed over and excluded and ignored. If it did not matter to you, how you were treated, you would not have been so heartbroken and so angry. When you came back to Asgard you told Mother and me that you should have realized we loved you. Mother is one matter, but I am at a loss to know how you could possibly have known that _I_ love you when I scarcely took the trouble to show it. I knew you were unhappy, and any idiot could have put the pieces together and realized that perhaps the way I treated you had something to do with it."

"And any idiot could have realized that, even if all my plans worked, they would not result in Mother and Father _congratulating me_ on fratricide and mass murder, on murdering their child. At least poor crazy Mordred is only trying to gain power, not win approbation." Loki released his hold on Thor and reached up to wipe his eyes, remembered just in time that his hands were bloody, and used his sleeves instead. "How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly well, all things considered," Thor replied. "Thank you, brother."

"Least I could do," Loki muttered, as Thor got carefully to his feet. Loki attempted to stand and the world tilted alarmingly. He found himself being held up by his brother, clinging to Thor's arms as he waited for the giddiness to pass.

"I begin to see where my strength has come from," Thor said worriedly. "Are you sure you are ready to-- ?"

Loki patted Thor's arm but did not let go with his other hand. "Yes, I'm fine, do not worry. When I find Excalibur I will be restored. This may have been… a small test." Loki let out an undignified squeak of surprise as he found himself wrapped in Thor's arms, but it was a tremendous relief to be able to hug him back and feel a new understanding between them. Perhaps, perhaps now things could really be as he had always wished between them.

Reluctantly, Thor released him. "I suppose we should go back out into the world and find out what is happening."

Loki, remembering the stories of how time passed differently in the land of the faeries, replied,

"And also _when_ it is happening."

Thor looked puzzled for a moment, but he caught on without being told.

"Yes. Well, we can always hope." He paused. "I do love you, Loki."

"I know. And I love you. Try to remember that, the next time I do something really annoying, will you?"

"As long as you remember, the next time I do something really stupid."

"It is a bargain."

And Loki led the way toward the faint glow that had to represent the way out.


	15. Chapter 15

Loki emerged from the cave first, Thor following closely behind, a hand extended in case Loki became wobbly. Loki pretended not to notice, and did not remind his brother how they had gotten into the cave in the first place. Instead, he looked up at the sky.

"The moon appears to be in the same position it was when we arrived," he whispered. That might mean no time had passed, or it might mean they had emerged at the same time of night a thousand years in the past or future. The only way to find out was to investigate further. Loki paused, listening for any sounds of Mordred's presence. He heard nothing. "All right. Let us see whether Excalibur is still here to be found. The Lady may have been offended by my actions and sent someone to retrieve it."

Or, of course, Mordred might have found a way to break the protective enchantment, and taken it himself.

Loki started forward, thought of something, and turned back to Thor, unslinging the baldric that held Excalibur's scabbard. "When we find Excalibur, I should probably keep it in my hand. I find this scabbard a little awkward when it is empty. Would you be so kind as to carry it for me? Please?"

Thor looked confused by the request, which was understandable given that the baldric was hardly heavy or cumbersome to wear, even in Loki's currently weakened state. Loki carefully kept his face calm, neutral, not suspiciously innocent or too persuasive: Thor was _not_ stupid, and if he realized Loki was trying to trick him into wearing the scabbard, he might also figure out why Loki would want to do so.

Apparently the unconcerned expression worked: Thor nodded, accepted the baldric, and Loki waited until he had himself turned away before he allowed relief to seep into his expression.

As they turned toward the stone path, the brothers saw lights in the sky, heading in their direction, and heard the sound of jets.

A moment later, the Iron Man and a helicarrier shuttle landed on the terrace before them. Steve-- suited as Captain America-- Fury, and Coulson stepped out of the vehicle and all four walked toward the brothers.

"Well, this is a relief," Loki called to them. Coulson, who was carrying an electric torch, shone it over the brothers, carefully angling it so as not to blind them. Steve exclaimed in shock, and Fury uttered an oath.

"What in hell happened to the two of you?" he demanded. "You look like-- like the ghost of Banquo, and his equally-murdered brother." Apparently, not even the conversation he and Thor had just had could stop Loki from flinching at those last two words, because Fury sighed impatiently. "Knock it off, Loki. That wasn't an aspersion, it was Shakespeare, and if you plan on hanging around this part of the world you'd probably better read him. Just don't believe a thing he says about Richard III. Tudor propaganda, every damn word. Now, why are you two covered in blood, whose is it, and where in hell is Mordred?"

There was something familiar in Fury's voice, but it took Loki a moment to recognize it: Fury was using exactly the same tone he did when he told Stark to shut up. And perhaps it said something pitiful about Loki's lingering need to feel included, but he found himself ridiculously warmed by the realization.

Thor spoke up, in the tone of a soldier reporting to his commander, which was another interesting revelation. "We caught up to Mordred, but he bewildered me with an illusion and then ran me through with a sword. Fortunately, my brother-- " Thor shook his head, a smile of what could only be described as delighted pride breaking out on his face. "I was once inclined to tease him by saying he was better at tricks than at fighting. It turned out he had a _remarkable_ one up his sleeve. It also turns out he is better at healing mortal wounds than at cleaning up the blood created by them, but I think I have no complaints about having to polish my own armor, when I have a moment."

Coulson looked slightly puzzled, which for Coulson was very puzzled indeed. "How could you have gotten mortally wounded if you were carrying Excalibur's scabbard? And why do you even have the scabbard in the first place?"

Thor frowned. "I did not, at the time. Loki just asked me to carry it for him a moment ago. And what do you mean by-- ?"

"After Mordred injured Thor, I threw Excalibur down the hill to distract him, and I was just about to go look for it," Loki interrupted, speaking rapidly. "If you will excuse me-- " He turned away, and Thor reached out a big hand to grab him by the shoulder. There was nothing rough about the grip; apparently Thor remembered either that his brother was not quite himself, or that he did not like to be manhandled. It was still firm enough to hold Loki. "The scabbard?" Thor prompted.

Coulson glanced at Loki, and then at Thor. "I seem to have let a cat out of the bag. Sorry, Loki. I had trouble sleeping the other night, so I looked up Excalibur on the Internet. The scabbard is supposed to be able to protect its wearer from injury-- that is, if that's the original scabbard."

"Apparently it is," Loki said resignedly, "since when I arrived to try to help Thor, Mordred also attacked me and was unable to inflict any injury. He was the one who told me of the scabbard's power, which was unknown to me until that moment."

"And so you decided I should have it?" Thor demanded, shaking Loki gently by the shoulder. "You do realize it is not better for you to be killed or wounded than me, do you not?"

Loki, who realized nothing of the sort, adopted a wheedling tone as he replied, "It seemed to me that one mortal injury in an evening was plenty for you. Think how distressed-- " He broke off, realizing the words on his tongue were "how distressed Mother would be, if anything happened to you," which he was suddenly sure would make his brother very angry. Thor seemed convinced Mother would not like it any better if Loki were the one killed. He found that difficult to believe-- he knew she would be _upset_ , of course he knew that, but there was simply no reason for her to be _as_ upset-- but this was hardly the time to argue about it.

"Take the scabbard back," Thor said, sweetly, but between his teeth. "Now." With bad grace, Loki acquiesced. As he slung the baldric across his shoulder, Steve cast him a sympathetic look, but Loki was not foolish enough to think Steve would help him persuade Thor to keep the scabbard himself.

"Hell, I'd be happy to carry the damn thing, if you're going to fight about it," Stark spoke up. "I've got no objection to being impervious to injury. Also, I noticed Excalibur lying on the ground by the path as I flew up, so apparently Mordred didn't get it after all. It's right down there."

"Thank you, Tony," Loki replied, slipped out of Thor's grip and went off in the direction indicated, as fast as he could manage and not go tumbling downhill. Tony Stark gestured at Thor to stay where he was, and followed Loki himself.

"Any guesses where Mordred might be?" Stark asked, as Loki picked up Excalibur.

"No. Not far, I would think. Although I seem to have been wrong in my assumption that he intended to confront Morgan Le Fay: almost as soon as we arrived, Mordred turned his attention to Thor."

"Oh, yeah?" Stark asked. "Hit him with his big fear?"

Loki did not so much shrug as wriggle. "If you will excuse me for a moment," he muttered, trying to concentrate on Excalibur.

"No problem," Stark replied. "Have anything to do with you?"

Loki glared at Stark. "Why would it?"

Stark shrugged. "Just wondering. I have the feeling you might be his soft spot."

"Tony-- " Loki began, warningly.

"I also have a feeling he might be yours," Stark went on.

"You are indeed a perceptive one," Loki snarled, but his heart was not in it.

"Went after Thor to get at you, did he?" Stark prompted.

"Something like that," Loki admitted. "Now, will you give me a moment? There is every reason to expect Mordred to return, and I would really prefer not to be swaying on my feet when he does." Stark made a be-my-guest gesture, Loki raised Excalibur, and Stark shielded his eyes.

"That really is the coolest thing in the world," Stark said wistfully, as the glow faded and Loki returned the sword to its scabbard. "Now what?"

Loki gestured to him to follow and they jogged back up to join their companions. "As a matter of interest," he addressed Coulson, "how long ago did Thor and I leave the helicarrier?"

Coulson thought about it. "We were about five minutes behind you, so-- ten minutes, tops."

"We spent at least an hour in that enchanted cavern, probably more," Loki said thoughtfully. "And the confrontation with Mordred took time as well. And yet almost no time has passed. The same thing happened when I visited the Lady in the River Brue. But when I investigated Mordred's chamber, I was missing for three days, though to me it felt like minutes."

"You think that means something?" Stark asked.

Loki shrugged. "Probably. I am at a loss to tell you what, though." He looked up at the ruin. "At the time, I believed Mordred had perhaps not visited his lair in several days, but when I returned to the helicarrier and learned how long I had been gone, I should have realized my impression was faulty, that the problem was time passing in the lair at a different rate than outside it."

"Yeah, well, things were happening pretty fast," Fury shrugged.

"That is no excuse," Loki replied, shaking his head in disgust. He indicated the ruin. "This entire hill is a powerful site, but the tower is of human construction, which may explain why Mordred chose it for his hideout. He may, indeed, have retreated there to decide what to do next." Squaring his shoulders, Loki started up the path toward the tower. A stride or two later he realized the others were accompanying him. "I am not at all sure you will be able to pass through the portal," he warned them.

"Only one way to find out," Stark said cheerfully.

"If you think we're letting you go in there alone, you're nuts," Fury added.

"Right," Steve agreed. "No way you're doing this by yourself."

"Besides, I was able to pass into the enchanted cavern in your company," Thor pointed out.

"That seemed to be a deliberate choice on the part of the magical agency who revealed it to me," Loki replied, glancing at his brother. "I very much doubt that Mordred will welcome any of us--"

Coulson interrupted. "Holy. Shit." His tone still sounded matter-of-fact, unless you happened to know him rather well, and that combined with the uncharacteristic vulgarity made Loki whirl to look in the direction Coulson faced, back toward the tower.

The doorway was glowing, and light poured out of the glassless windows, as though the entire structure had become a lantern. As the group watched, the light dimmed and smoke began to boil out of every opening in the tower. At the same time, Loki became aware of a growling, humming roar. When he looked around at the others, it was abundantly obvious that this time everyone could hear the same sound he did.

"What in hell-- ?" Stark exclaimed, the Iron Man mask clanging shut over his face.

"That can't be good," Coulson understated, his voice back under control.

"I think not," Loki agreed, just as the dragon's head cleared the top of the tower, still rising, and its wings unfurled into a span nearly equal to the height of the ruin.

"Holy-- " Steve breathed, which was as apt a comment as any, and then the dragon was perching on the top of the tower, much as Loki had a few days before but infinitely larger. It stretched its long, elegant neck downward, opened its mouth, and hissed fire and rage at them, wings still spread either for balance or in threat. Everyone scrambled backward.

"Is that-- ?" Thor asked.

"Mordred? Either himself or something controlled by him, I have no doubt," Loki replied. "Stay back, all of you, and whatever you do, do not become angry."

"What?" Steve asked, his tone registering disbelief. Loki could hardly blame him for being surprised by the admonition.

"He is being profligate with his magic and, without support from Morgan Le Fay, it may not last much longer," Loki explained, looking up at the dragon. "However, he seems to feed upon fear and anger. I realize it is a bit much to ask you not to be afraid at the moment, but please, please do not get angry." He glanced around and recognized the futility of his request: Stark was clearly the type who channeled fear into anger; all the dragon would have to do was _look_ at Loki and Thor would lose his temper; and Fury… well, Loki had never met anyone whose name was so ridiculously appropriate, including dwarves who gave themselves absurd names, like Glod Orcslayer Greataxe, to boast of their feats in battle.

Coulson and Steve, on the other hand…

Loki unsheathed Excalibur and drove the blade downward into the earth, uttering a few words in the Alltongue to ask the assistance of whatever magical forces were willing to help him. Behind the group, another glowing portal opened. Loki turned toward his brother and his comrades.

"I apologize most sincerely for the necessity, and will free you the moment it is practical," he promised rapidly, raised his right hand, and cast Thor, Stark, and Fury through the portal, which immediately sealed itself upon them. Then he turned back to Steve, who looked thoroughly bewildered, and Coulson, who had raised an eyebrow. "They will come to no harm. May I beg your assistance?"

At which moment the dragon pushed off from the top of the tower, flapped its great wings, and became airborne.

"What kind of assistance?" Steve asked, eyes fixed on the monster, as the three instinctively gave ground.

"We need to distract it, harass it, tempt it into casting flame and whatever magic it possesses at us. That which does not kill _us_ makes _it_ weaker. Also, please remember, Mordred is a creature suffering terrible mental pain and anguish."

"Are you trying to make us feel _sorry_ for him?" Coulson demanded.

Loki grinned. "In fact, yes. Whatever works to prevent you from feeling fear and anger toward him instead. If he exorcises those emotions, there may be something left to reason with. In the meantime, try not to get killed, and-- _run!"_

The trio split up, retreating at top speed in three different directions, as the dragon charged. It paused a moment to identify Loki, and then gave chase. It crossed Loki's mind that he had not asked Coulson whether Excalibur's scabbard protected its wearer specifically from injury in battle, or from a host of ills including incineration and consumption by dragons.

Oh well. As the humans would say: only one way to find out.

Loki stopped, wheeled, raised Excalibur. The dragon also came to a hovering stop in the air above him before landing with a reverberating crash that shook the tower, rearing up on its hind legs, wings spread in a display of awe-inspiring terror. It was a beautiful creature, really, were you in a position to view it that way: long and sinuous, with a shapely head rather like that of a predatory reptilian horse, mainly of a deep green shading paler on its belly with dark purple scales and leathers accenting its head, legs, and wings. Had it been less than seventy feet long, or not quite so eager to kill him, or (preferably) both, Loki would have been most interested to make its closer acquaintance.

Under the current circumstances, he would have greatly preferred to give ground, and that at a speed that might best be described as "fleeing for his life." Instead, he stood fast, gathered all the magic he could find, and cast it as a shield toward the dragon.

He had already observed that Mordred seemed to be in a state of emotional turmoil bordering on insanity. He saw no reason to alter this impression as the dragon directed fire in his direction, a long continuous blast that would have cooked him in his tracks had it not been for the magical scabbard which, it transpired, did protect its wearer from dragons. As it was, he was still uncomfortably warm, and grateful the shapeshifting spell that held him in his Aesir form appeared to suppress all Jotun physiology because, scabbard or no scabbard, a Jotun would have been in very serious trouble right about now.

Mordred did not seem deterred by his inability to either burn Loki to a crisp or pass through the magic to rend him limb from limb or (more probably) devour him like a canapé. He simply kept breathing fire like a horn player holding a single continuous note, apparently confident his magic could outlast Loki's, or simply too distraught to care.

Had it been a case of Mordred's borrowed magic versus what Loki could salvage of his own after rescuing Thor, there would have been no contest. However, it appeared whatever magical entities ruled Glastonbury Tor were no more eager to have Midgard-- or England, anyway-- ruled over by an insane, long-dead despot than the clearing in the forest had been. Loki found himself buffeted between the assault of Mordred's flames and the opposing magical forces using him as a conduit. What powers he possessed of his own were fully occupied keeping him on his feet and maintaining the structural integrity of his body.

"Hey, dragon! Hey, dragon-dragon-dragon!" a voice shouted from somewhere off to Loki's left, and he had momentary leisure to reflect that Steve seemed to have very little experience in taunting dragons, if this was the best he could do, before the flame receded and he realized it had worked, the dragon had turned its malice on the new tormentor. The creature was apparently too furious to be choosy of insults. As it prepared to shoot flame at the tiny red-white-and-blue figure, an even smaller, round shape came sailing toward it and the fiery blast was diverted in the direction of Steve's flying shield. Whatever the shield was composed of, it was fireproof, and it described a great circle in the air before returning to Steve's hand.

The dragon had vented its frustration with flaming passes at the shield, but now its attention was directed back toward Steve. Loki was about to intervene when Coulson appeared, uphill and a little distance from the ruin.

The problem with electing Coulson as one of Loki's allies was, as a human with no superpowers, Coulson was utterly physically vulnerable.

The great benefit of soliciting the assistance of Coulson was the man's preternatural self-possession. Devoid of magic or weapons of any real power-- his little handgun or even a pulse rifle would be a joke to such a monster-- Coulson also drew the dragon's attention with taunting. Coulson, Loki noted, was more creative than Steve, uttering jibes directed at the dragon's parentage-- Loki heard references to hamsters and, puzzlingly, the scent of elderberries-- and he seemed to derive great enjoyment from delivering them, which apparently preserved him from anger.

It was hard to tell whether the dragon actually understood the words, or indeed was inclined to be offended by them, but it whirled with remarkable agility for a creature of its size and flapped up the hill toward Coulson. By this time, however, Loki observed it was spitting sparks rather than breathing flame, its beautiful green scales had become dingy, and it seemed to be getting smaller.

It was still more than large enough to dispatch Coulson, who stood his ground as though utterly confident either in Loki's plan or his own ability to handle dragons. In fact, Loki really did not have a plan, but he twisted together enough magic to deliver himself in front of the creature and toss up another shield. The dragon collided with it and sagged.

"Mordred," Loki said, authoritatively, borrowing his tone from childhood memories of his mother-- as much as he loved his father, there was still too much fear in those recollections for him to dare attempt that tone. So Mother it was, kind and firm and understanding, though perhaps a little disappointed. "Mordred, come out of there."

And either the tone worked, or Mordred had exhausted his borrowed magic with the ridiculous display of the dragon, because suddenly the monster was gone, and the scrawny figure in the green cloak stood before them, eyes reddened and face twisted. Far away in the back of his mind, Loki suddenly realized why it had been so difficult to persuade Thor to fight him on the Bifrost: the last thing he wanted to do was add to the burdens carried by this poor crazy creature, and he didn't even love him.

Coulson, not exactly a warm and friendly type, had the sense to back away as Steve walked over, hands down, shield turned away, no threats offered. Loki cautiously lowered the magical shield and edged forward.

"It is over, Mordred," Loki said gently. Mordred turned unseeing eyes upon Loki, raised his right hand listlessly, and tried to… do something. Probably blast Loki and his damnable words into oblivion, if Loki was any judge of Mordred's state of mind, which of course he was. There may have been a little curl of green fire visible in his fingertips, but aside from that Mordred's power was spent. He stared at his hand with an expression of unutterable misery, and Loki took an involuntary step forward, his own hand reaching out without conscious thought.

"What… what are we going to do with him?" Steve whispered, although it seemed Mordred was unable to hear him anyway. Coulson shrugged, looking as nearly troubled as Coulson could, although it was impossible to tell whether he was concerned about the erstwhile sorcerer's mental state or simply considering the complexities of incarcerating what amounted to a ghost.

"I have no idea," Loki admitted, privately resolving that, whatever they did with Mordred, it was not going to involve the magic-draining restraints.

"It's time to send him home," said a new voice, young and male and incongruously cheerful.

Loki, Steve, and Coulson turned to see who had joined them.


	16. Chapter 16

Loki, Steve, and Coulson turned toward the source of the voice. Walking toward them was a very slender, very young man, dressed in what might best be described as some modern human's idea of the garb of a medieval peasant or servant. His standards of personal hygiene appeared to be modern as well: dark hair clean and neatly trimmed around his prominent ears, bony face clear-skinned, blue eyes bright and ready to sparkle with mischief.

Coulson and Steve looked him over, and Coulson was the one who asked the question:

"Who are you?"

The newcomer looked expectantly at Loki, who could feel his face heat up. Apparently, this was his fault.

"Steve, Mr. Coulson, may I present Merlin," Loki said briefly.

"Coulson's fine," the agent said, extending a hand. Merlin shook it. Steve followed suit, unable to stop himself from remarking,

"I thought you'd be-- "

"Older?" Merlin asked, with a smile. "I do age backwards, after all. Really, though, your friend here has the most to do with it: I'm letting his expectations influence my appearance to you, and he doesn't seem to be well-versed in Arthurian mythology." At the uncomprehending looks on the two faces, Merlin said gently, "Apparently, there's a television program." He glanced at Loki and added, "I'm grateful, really. I spent centuries appearing to people as an old man with a beard and pointy hat. It's quite nice, really, not having any aches or pains."

Merlin turned toward Mordred, and his smile disappeared. "And now, it's time to do something about you." Loki was struck with a sudden pang of anxiety, but Merlin's expression was kind. "Morgan's idea, to let him see how the realm has gotten along without him, without Arthur, without the Round Table-- that was a good one, or at least it would have been if he'd been a little more concerned _about_ the realm. Morgan's vision is outward, so she doesn't always realize how much more concerned most creatures are with what goes on inside them." Merlin glanced at Loki, whose face was now very hot indeed, and said gently, "It's fortunate you were here as well."

Yes, well, if someone was needed who understood festering and brooding, Loki was indeed your sorcerer. As nothing apparently needed to be said, Loki said nothing, merely waited for Merlin to speak again.

"I'm not quite sure he understands that rulers are transient," Merlin remarked thoughtfully. "It's understandable: in his lifetime, there was only ever one king, his father, and Mordred was always in too much pain to be particularly capable of considering the situation objectively. Mordred," he now addressed the other-- man? Apparition?-- directly. "Mordred, I need to show you something."

Mordred, who had been staring at the ground, looked up, his expression of hopeless misery painful to behold. Loki, watching, remembered his own fall into the dustbins behind the little house in Totterdown. Although he had not known it at the time, both a cleansing charm and a protective spell had fallen with him, causing him to land in a place where the help he needed would be forthcoming, in an emotional state that allowed him to recognize and accept it. If that had not been the case, he might have been as badly off as Mordred: possibly just as dangerously angry, certainly as sick with misery.

Loki, though again he had not known it at the time, had not been nearly as abandoned as he thought himself to be. If TH White was to be believed, Mordred really was. Loki found himself looking at Merlin with what he knew to be a childish sensation of hope. If Merlin could get through to Mordred, if he would go back willingly to where he belonged, if anything could be done to comfort him...

Behind Merlin, a figure appeared. Loki had been rather expecting the young, blond, handsome Arthur from the same television series as his vision of Merlin-- an Arthur quite driven from his mind by _The Candle In the Wind._ This man was not Arthur, was a stranger to Loki, his garb even more primitive than Mordred's. He was followed by another, and then a third, and finally Loki realized what Merlin was showing them: it was a parade of all the monarchs who had preceded and followed Arthur, all the rulers of England throughout the centuries.

Loki actually found the procession extremely interesting on its own merits-- like Mordred, he too had only lived under the rule of a single king, his father, and he too had given little thought to those who might have come before. The lifespan of the Aesir was rather different from that of a human, of course: during the span being shown to Mordred, Odin had in fact been the only king of Asgard. That was not the case here on Midgard: the procession seemed endless, the kings varied in age and increasingly gorgeously arrayed, some of them really striking, like the massive blond-bearded king who limped on a gouty leg, looking like Thor grown old, run to seed, and having lost his good nature.

He was preceded by a thin-faced man with a miserly, watchful air, and a small, wary-looking one with dark hair, all three of them eying each other with equal suspicion. Indeed, suspicion seemed to be a feature of the expressions of many of the kings. It occurred to Loki that, of course, the throne had probably, more than once, changed hands through warfare. The later monarchs appeared far less mutually hostile, and several of them bore striking family resemblances that spoke of inheritance rather than conquest. The later kings seemed entirely less martial than the earlier ones, perhaps reflecting the transformation from practical leaders to figureheads.

Loki had been thinking of this as a procession of kings, but in fact there were queens present as well, and one or two of them-- the redheaded one in the elaborate dress, and the round woman with the imperious face-- were formidable-looking indeed.

And here, right at the end of the procession, was a kind-looking blue-eyed man in a naval uniform, and beside him a really lovely young woman, a girl, really, with dark hair. She held the man's arm, squeezed it affectionately, and walked forward. As she did so, it was as though she walked through an aging spell, her hair turning silver, her face becoming lined, until she stood before Mordred as a grandmotherly-looking woman in a coat, skirt and hat of soft periwinkle that accented the forget-me-not blue of her eyes.

"You appear," she addressed Mordred, "to be in some confusion about the current state of the realm." Her voice struck the exact note of authority for which Loki had reached-- by human standards, she had been Queen for a very long time, and in addition, she perhaps had some experience with the pains and confusions of the young.

Mordred raised his eyes to look at the old lady, managed to focus on her, and said in a complaining sort of voice, "You will tell me the realm belongs to you."

"Oh, no," came the reply, accompanied by a firm shake of the silvery head and the periwinkle hat. "That is not true, and has never been. It is far more accurate to say that I belong to the realm." Mordred looked bewildered, and the Queen smiled kindly at him. "It is true that, in the normal way of things, you would have become king if you had only been patient. I think, perhaps, your pain was too great for patience, is that not true?" Mordred only swallowed hard, but something in his eyes acknowledged the truth of her words. "You are not the first or last whose expectations of inheriting the throne were thwarted by means outside their control." Considering the circumstances under which Mordred had lost his claim to the throne-- war of his own making-- Loki was almost impressed that he gave no sign of discomfort at the words. Loki himself felt heat rushing all through his body at the unintentional reminder of his own crimes.

The Queen, thank the Norns, did not notice Loki's guilty twitch. "There are those who expect a throne they do not inherit," she repeated. "And those who never wished for a throne that seeks them out." She glanced over the array of monarchs behind her, and seemed to catch the eye of the wary-looking dark-haired man standing by the miser and the giant, then turned her gaze to the man in the naval uniform who stood behind her, before facing Mordred again. "Sometimes to their great cost, sometimes their disaster, it seeks them out, and the only answer is to serve. That is what you need to understand: we are brief, and mortal. Our role may be important in the service of the realm, but we ourselves are much less so. Your father was chosen as king, sought out by the throne, and as his only son, an accident of birth, you were intended to succeed him. That did not happen. My own father was never meant to be king, but he too was sought out for reasons beyond his control. I... " She hesitated, and said slowly, "I expected... I thought surely I would be quite old, my children grown, myself far more _prepared_ , when I became Queen. It would have been... it would have been easier, it would have been happier for everyone, if... " She looked at the man in the naval uniform again, the dark-haired girl suddenly visible if you beheld her out of the corners of your eyes, and even Mordred seemed suddenly aware of the unseemliness of his own desire to supplant his father upon the throne.

The old lady's shoulders stiffened, in what struck Loki as a gesture she may have made many times in the course of a long life in which her own needs and wishes had always been secondary. With an expression of renewed resolve, she addressed Mordred again:

"That did not happen, and no amount of wishing can change it. Your time is past. My own is nearly past, and perhaps one day the time of the throne will pass as well. This is not within our control, nor should it be. Our role is one of service, for as long as we are needed, and so it will remain. The realm will remain, and we will pass into history."

She turned suddenly toward Loki, holding out her right hand. Not for nothing had Loki been raised around royalty: he bowed and, in the same motion, drew Excalibur from its scabbard and offered it to her, hilt-first. She nodded thanks, took the sword, and, after looking at it for a considering moment, raised it.

Behind her, behind the procession of kings and queens, another glowing portal opened. One by one, beginning with the farthest away, the former monarchs walked through it and vanished, until only two remained. The old Queen looked at Mordred with an expression that mingled compassion and command.

"Find what peace you can, Mordred. This destiny is not yours, and that cannot be changed." She reversed her grip on Excalibur and extended it to Loki, who bowed again and took it back. The Queen smiled and Loki felt the most ridiculous sense of having been honoured. Her attention, however, was on the man in the naval uniform, who stepped forward and kissed her warmly on the cheek. In a gentle voice with a slight hesitation, he said,

"Well said, my dear. Your mother and I have always been so proud of you."

The elderly Queen clasped his hands and smiled. "Do give her my love. And... everyone." He nodded to her, acknowledged the others, and walked away through the portal. She watched him go, then turned to Merlin. "I suppose this is all a dream?"

"It will seem as one, when you wake," he assured her.

She smiled again, mischief lurking around the edges. "Philip _will_ be amused to hear of all this. Goodbye." And she, too, walked through the portal and vanished. Loki glanced at Merlin for instructions. The wizard indicated that he wait, and turned to Mordred.

Loki also turned his attention to the king who never was and never would be, and was mildly relieved to see Mordred's expression no longer reflected frustrated madness. Instead, and this was why the relief was mild, he looked grief-stricken and lost. All his life, and apparently throughout the centuries since his death, he had told himself that if he could only become king, everything would be all right: he would be honoured, he would be loved, he would _matter_. And now, finally, he knew that to be impossible: the realm had rejected him, exactly as everyone else had.

At first, Loki thought Mordred was bowing, crumbling, under the weight of that knowledge. And then he realized Mordred was actually getting _smaller_. Smaller and... younger. Loki, Steve, and Coulson looked at each other in confusion and, it must be admitted, some alarm: if Merlin intended to transform Mordred into a child and then send for his mother to collect him...

"Come on, youngster," said another voice, one Loki recognized immediately and with relief. Standing beside Merlin was Gawain. Not the middle-aged, hopeless Gawain of _The Candle In the Wind_ , the one Loki had, as he read, imagined looking like Thor, bewildered but trying to understand and defend the inexplicably vicious younger brother he was unable to really love.

No, Merlin had spared them all that, and the Gawain he showed them was the cheerful young scapegrace of that same ridiculous television program, good-natured and well-intentioned and bound for all sorts of mostly-harmless trouble. It made no sense, of course, but Loki found himself utterly unable to care. Gawain held out his hand in the fond gesture of an adult encouraging a child to come in from playing, as if he expected Mordred to simply take it and walk away with him.

"Come on," Gawain repeated, his tone unmistakably affectionate.

"I'm sorry," said Mordred, who was now about eight years old, looking up with a tear-streaked, remorseful face.

"I know," Gawain said gently. "I'm sorry, too. So are the rest of the boys. Let's go find them, all right?" Mordred bowed his little head and walked over to Gawain, who ruffled his hair and pulled him close in the rough but kindly manner of older brothers everywhere. Mordred threw his arms around Gawain's waist and pressed his face into the older knight's side as if hiding his tears. Gawain rested his hand on Mordred's dark head, looked at Merlin and then Loki with an expression of gratitude, then lifted his little brother in his arms and carried him through the portal.

"There is not a single aspect of my treatment of that boy that does not fill me with shame."

"I know. But you have nothing to offer him except pity, and pity is not what he needs."

"You are, as usual, right."

With no surprise whatsoever, Loki turned to see Arthur himself, finally Arthur, standing next to Merlin, an Arthur who somehow combined the well-meaning innocent of the television program with the older, tired king haunted by the drowning of the infants.

"The problem," Merlin said, "or at any rate your part of his problem, is that you do not love him, and you never can. Nor does his mother, at least not in a way that can do him anything but harm. His brothers do, and you should leave him to them. Who knows? Maybe one day it will all come around again, and they will turn out to have done him some good."

Arthur smiled tiredly at Merlin, who smiled back and gestured toward the glowing portal. Arthur nodded to Loki and his friends, and disappeared. Merlin held out his hand to Loki, who handed over Excalibur without hesitation. Merlin gestured with the sword, and the portal vanished.

"Well," Merlin said brightly, "that's that. I don't know whether to apologize for the trouble or thank you for the help, so I suppose I should do both. Oh-- you can come out now," he added. Thor, Stark, and Fury appeared before them, looking utterly confused. Merlin smiled cheerfully upon them and handed back Excalibur. As Loki took it, Merlin said mildly, "I can tell you're not the type to get ideas, but... don't get ideas. Simply wielding Excalibur is not enough to make you king."

"I have no such ideas," Loki replied fervently, and Merlin smiled.

"I thought not. Thank you again."

And he was gone.

~oOoOo~

"And that, I guess, is that," Mitchell said, looking around the conference table once again.

"I guess," Stark agreed. They all looked down at the table, where once again Excalibur lay on a folded blanket, pulsing with power, waiting to once again be needed.

"Except, of course, for returning Excalibur to the Lady," George commented.

Fury cleared his throat. "About that. As a representative of SHIELD, I think I can tell you the agency isn't going to want to lose control of an artifact with so much power attached to it."

George raised his eyebrows. "No?"

As George spoke, with everyone looking at him, Loki reached down and snatched up the sword, pulled it out of its scabbard. As power swirled through and around him, he called upon a spell he had not been able to use since he left Asgard.

There was a blaze of light, and Loki and Excalibur were gone.

~oOoOo~

He landed on his feet, in the middle of Pomparles Bridge. The sky was becoming bright in the east, light beginning to dance on the water. Loki, the sword and scabbard clutched to his chest, looked down at the surface of the river.

"I wonder what it looked like, when it was a lake."

Loki turned, startled but not surprised, not really. Annie was leaning on the stone wall that bordered the bridge, looking down into the water. He walked over to join her.

"How did you know where I was going?" he asked.

"I didn't have to," she admitted. "I can... follow people I'm fond of, so I just sort of teleported after you. I did know, though."

"Oh, yes?" Loki asked. "It did not occur to you that I might be planning to steal Excalibur and embark upon a life of crime?"

Annie wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into him. "Don't be silly," she said affectionately. "You might want to wait a moment before you throw that back, though."

Loki cocked an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

Annie glanced up at the sky. "Because the others should be arriving right about-- "

Thor landed on the bridge behind them, George and Mitchell clinging self-consciously to him like baby monkeys. A second later, the Iron Man touched down, releasing the arm wrapped around Captain America.

"-- Now," Annie said cheerfully.

"Oh, good. We are in time to add our thanks to yours," Thor said, as the group joined Loki and Annie. "Coulson and Fury are sorry they are unable to be here, but they seemed to think it would be tactless for representatives of SHIELD to be present. Also, they are busy making up an excuse to the agency for the disappearance of Excalibur."

"Magical vaporization is my guess," Stark commented, looking down into the water.

"That sounds perfectly reasonable to me," Steve agreed.

Loki looked around at the group. "You would all feel extremely silly right now, if you had guessed incorrectly about my intentions."

"So we would," Mitchell agreed. "Lucky for us that we didn't."

Loki smiled and turned to George. "Is there a particular way I should do this?"

George shrugged. "Not that I know of. Just chuck it as far as you can out into the middle of the river, and we'll see what happens."

Loki wrapped the baldric more securely around the scabbard. "Thank you," he said simply, then clutched Excalibur in the middle, drew back his arm and threw the sword as hard as he could. It tumbled end-over-end as it rose in the air above the River Bruges. As daylight struck the hilt, the river disappeared and was replaced by a great shimmering lake.

Excalibur fell toward the surface of the water, which was suddenly broken by a woman's hand and arm, clothed in a shining white garment. The hand caught Excalibur by the hilt, waved the sword three times, and disappeared beneath the waters of the lake.

A moment later, they were once more looking down at the moving surface of the river.

~oOoOo~

Coulson had promised that SHIELD would repair the damage to their house. SHIELD was rather better than its word, matching paint and tile and even the patina of age to such an extent that it was very difficult to envision where the damage had happened.

Loki, head ducked to avoid smacking it on the sloped ceiling of his box room, was unpacking his belongings and feeling the unutterable relief of being safely at home. Downstairs, he could hear the others calling back and forth, commenting on whether the furniture was all in its proper position again, whether the entryway really looked exactly the same as it did originally, and finally George remembering they'd left wet and muddy laundry on the cellar floor beside the washing machine for a whole week, and a debate began about whether they should try to salvage any of it with bleach, or throw it all away and start over.

Loki sat down on the edge of his bed-- his familiar, friendly, too-short, too-narrow bed. He had a feeling he was going to sleep extremely well tonight, curled up in his usual awkward ball of limbs, an arm or leg hanging over the side like an afterthought.

"Have you got anything for the laundry?" Annie asked from the doorway. Loki looked up at her with a smile.

"I was just sorting through my things. I will bring anything that needs washing in just a moment. And then perhaps I will pay a visit to the school, to see whether they will allow me to return."

"Mr. Fury seemed pretty confident that wasn't going to be a problem," Annie reminded him.

"I should probably send a note to our Member of Parliament, to thank her for her assistance," Loki said, remembering what Coulson had told him in the boat.

"That's a really good idea," Annie agreed. "And perhaps on the way home you can pay a little visit to the toyshop." Loki blinked at her, trying to look innocent, and remembered that Annie had been the one to pack everyone's belongings for their time on the helicarrier. Relentlessly, Annie went on, "Just so Thor doesn't get lonesome, all by himself in your sock drawer."

Loki's face became warm, but he joined Annie's laughter. "Yes," he admitted, "I had thought of doing exactly that."

"Well, let's have a cup of tea first," she suggested.

Loki nodded, rose cautiously to his feet, and followed her downstairs to join the others.


End file.
